


Honor, Oath, & Blood

by TheCuriousNumber5



Series: Honor [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-07-03 18:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 71,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15824187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCuriousNumber5/pseuds/TheCuriousNumber5
Summary: A Nightborne, freed of the arcane addiction plaguing her people, fought against the Legion for millennia before they incited the Third War. She is forced to return to her home world in search of allies to rally against Sargeras's forces. In the Eastern Kingdoms, she is captured by the war-hardened orc commander, Saurfang, setting into motion events neither could have prepared for.





	1. Chapter 1

After ten thousand years, the Legion was again poised to invade Azeroth. Already there were events in motion that had started quietly enough that no one noticed until it was too late. In the meantime, the Legion had spent plenty of time wreaking havoc and destroying countless other worlds as Sargeras plotted how he would finally take _this_ world.

Gylledra Alenos had been in the thick of it during the first invasion and had watched as the existence she knew was torn asunder. Monsters had poured forth through their beloved Well of Eternity, warped into a vile, demonic portal, destroying everything they touched. She had fought with those who resisted, the ones smart enough to betray Azshara and her mad quest for more power. Gylledra fought until the shield was erected around Suramar, trapping her inside before she could get out.

In the places where time moves differently, ten thousand years can feel like twenty and one year can feel like a hundred. After escaping Suramar, Gylledra had spent a lot of time in such places and now, having returned to Azeroth, with a little finesse and clever calculating, she had determined just how long it had been since that horrific invasion.

The face the world now wore was unrecognizable. Gylledra knew it was Azeroth, she could feel it, of course, the living thing deep inside it at the very core, but there was nothing that looked familiar, what had once been the sprawling lands of Kalimdor were shattered and scattered across great seas that weren’t there before.

It was a silent, clandestine excursion rifling and rummaging though the library of a village that gave Gylledra the information she needed. She absconded with maps and books and whatever else her curious mind thought interesting. It was a _human_ village, she learned…whatever humans were. They seemed like small, stunted versions of a great people she had known, once upon a time.

The pilfered library was in the town of Tarren Mill; it was small but seemed prosperous enough. Gylledra almost felt bad for depriving them of various sources of knowledge, but her mission was one that meant saving even the stunted humans who lived there.

Gylledra’s traveling companion, and incidentally, her only friend, was Nasorya, who had happily slain demons at her side, carrying in her a special, deep seated loathing for them. Fortunately, she had focused long enough to keep watch during the thievery.

The town was in a small region called the Hillsbrad Foothills, and making good their escape, Gylledra and Nasorya crossed a river and traveled east through the forests. They passed a keep that had a very foreboding air to it before heading north into the hills to avoid the open exposure they’d be forced to contend with if they crossed into the nearby Arathi Highlands.

The forest would have been serene had it not been for the looming knowledge of the coming invasion. Aside from that though, Gylledra felt something else was lurking in the trees but she couldn’t tell what. They’d set up their meager camp in a small valley beside a creek, choosing a spot that felt fairly defensible. It was unlikely much of anything would successfully creep up on them there.

Days of trudging through unfamiliar territory and creeping about to avoid any notice had left Gylledra feeling in great need of a bath. She stripped down while Nasorya prowled off in search of their supper. The camp was sheltered by trees and adequate undergrowth and the afternoon sunlight streamed down through the leaves. Though the creek rippled in its center as it traveled through a water-carved trench, the edges of the creek were smooth and flat as glass, mirroring the trees and sky.

Gylledra looked down at her reflection, an odd angle to say the least then inhaled sharply, wading into the icy water. The ripples disturbed the image on the surface and she wondered if this strange version of Azeroth was no more than a distorted reflection of what once was.

There was a breeze and it did not make the already-frigid bath any more comfortable. Leaves rustled but she kept an ear on the sounds of the birds, any variance in their songs would indicate someone or something approaching.

Hurriedly, Gylledra scrubbed away the grime of travel and rough-living. She’d bathed in more creeks, streams, and ponds in her lifetime than _actual_ bathing facilities and stubbornly ignoring the cold, she unraveled her braid to wash her hair. To some degree, the crisp, almost numbingly cold creek made her feel renewed and energetic. She bent, ringing the water out, again meeting her own gaze in the reflection. Most of the elves in Suramar had in time come to have bright white hair in contrast to their skin, which the Nightwell had turned midnight-blue. Her own hair was still dark and her complexion paler like the dusk rather than dark like the night. There were a handful of others like her, and it was curious why some of them had changed differently than others.

Finally done, Gylledra got back onto the bank to dry off, get feeling back in her extremities, and get dressed. Naked, her back to the trees, she crouched to rummage in her bag for her brush. An enormous axe blade then slid into view and she silently berated herself. The edge of it touched just under her chin and behind her, whoever was holding that axe, spoke a rough, guttural language she didn’t understand. It was not the Common she had been reading in the human books. The axe blade pushed upward so she raised her hands and very slowly stood upright, turning around carefully, lest some abrupt movement startle the intruder. She really didn’t have time to have her head lopped off.

As her eyes fell on the axe-wielder, Gylledra’s mouth dropped open, he was, to her astonishment, an orc. During the first invasion, an orc had been captured by the Moon Guard and kept in Suramar. Her questions about the orc from some other world had never been answered, but he had eventually fought at their side with honor, strength, and a savagery Gylledra had _greatly_ admired. He’d come to mind often enough since then that she worried the next world she’d see destroyed would be whatever world the orcs came from.

She had thought never to see an orc again. _This_ orc was huge, armored, and his axe had certainly seen better days, but was still razor sharp. His skin was green and his eyes beneath a furrowed brow were sharp and amber; she could see calculating intelligence, this was not some meat-head axe-swinger. He had long, graying hair which was braided and fastened with metal clasps. There was an iron ring in his nose, and one of the tusks protruding upward from his jaw had a small metal band around the base while the other was pierced with two thin metal loops. Part of her wondered how he’d even pierced a tusk…and for that matter _why_ had he?

Gylledra was taken aback by him, but not necessarily because he’d come up on her while she was unaware. She felt almost silly, staring at him with her eyes wide. It was a strange feeling, she didn’t take much fascination in others for the most part but long ago, the orc in Suramar had left a lasting impression on her.

The situation did not call for brash action, despite Gylledra being capable of disarming even so large an orc. Her most dangerous weapons were not physical, after all; she was Nightborne, the most learned and sophisticated practitioners of the arcane. If there were orcs in Azeroth, they would undoubtedly be seeking to save their own hides as much as any people and she was in no position to be choosey about allies. Without being able to communicate with him though, she wasn’t sure how to get across her message.

The orc’s physique was formidable, and Gylledra had absolutely no doubt about his prowess with his axe, the blade of which still rested under her chin. The orc she had known in Suramar had been friendly toward her, almost familiar like he knew her and was glad to see her. The one now standing before her did not seem even remotely glad about anything at all. He spoke again in a deep, reverberating voice that seemed even to thrum through her, but she shook her head.

“I do not speak your language, I am sorry.” Gylledra told him carefully, in the human language, the only language she could think of that he _might_ know. Poring over the books she’d stolen had given her at least a basic grasp on the simple language.

He harrumphed quietly, and she saw his amber eyes move down her naked body. She was perhaps a bit shorter than the rest of the Nightborne typically were, but she was not of a particularly willowy stature by any means; a body could not be at war for thousands of years and be without a strong build. Judging by the languid pace his gaze lingered on her, he was begrudgingly admiring her, though, somehow without appearing lewd or lascivious. With that realization, she inhaled sharply then unexpectedly, her cheeks suddenly burned hot. She cleared her throat, drawing his eyes at once back to hers. “I’m not hiding any weapons _any_ where…I promise.” She told him levelly, finding her voice and getting a grip. She almost smirked and he closed his mouth, shooting her a glare. “May I put my clothes on?” She asked.

“Do not expect me to turn my back so that you can flee.” He rumbled. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Very well… _watch_ then.” She gave a little shrug, and he took a step back, still well within axe-swinging range, but he gave her enough room to put on her clothes. Nasorya chose that moment to emerge through the tree line, and with the ease one of her stature should not have, was dragging a fairly good sized deer by one of its legs. Her bright, violet eyes widened, seeing a nude Gylledra with an axe blade at her throat. The orc noticed at once that Gylledra’s attention was behind him so without moving the axe, he looked back. Her companion had a somewhat elven visage to a certain extent…except for those violet colored eyes, small dark horns that curled back, and grayish skin. She was, after all, not even remotely an elf.

“ _I decided to have fun without you._ ” Gylledra called in Shalassian.

“ _Shall I eat him_?” Nasorya asked.

“ _It would not be in our best interest to do so unfortunately_.” Gylledra let out a sigh and Nasorya shrugged, almost disappointed.

“ _Have you tried damsel-in-distress?”_

_“A bit hard to do convincingly in the nude, don’t you think?”_

“ _Damsel in distress it is_.” Nasorya dropped the deer, rubbed her hands together as though preparing, and affected an over-exaggerated, frightened expression that even the most gullible would be hard pressed to believe. “Please! Do not hurt my mistress!” She cried, dramatically. Gylledra tried not to look amused. Nasorya lived for this kind of comical nonsense, not that she was ever discouraged from it. The orc turned back to Gylledra, and his expression was clear. _Really?_ his face asked, one brow arched.

“Yes, I know.” She told the orc. He rolled his eyes a little before his glance flicked downward at her nakedness again then he blinked away the distraction stubbornly, staring her firmly in the eye instead. “I am getting dressed now.” Gylledra wore only simple leather, flat, knee-high boots, a shirt beneath her vest, and leather jacket. She had a couple bags but only two utility knives which she kept sheathed in her boots. “Though you have no reason to believe me, I assure you, we mean no harm. I can swear it only on my honor and hope that is enough.” The orc scoffed a little, seeing right through her thinly veiled attempt to appeal to his sense of honor. Even she thought it was a weak effort.

“What do you know of honor?” The creases in his brow deepened but she bristled at the suggestion she might not understand the concept. Her tone was a little cooler when she replied.

“I have spent six and a half millennia at war with demons, I know a great deal more about _honor_ than most.” She kept her hands up where he could see them. His brows had gone up a fraction but he kept his face under control. “My name is Gylledra Alenos.”

“I am Varok Saurfang of the Blackrock clan, advisor to the Warchief of the Horde. I will take you and your…maid? to the Warchief for further…discussion.” He replied. As suspected, he was no mere warrior, but held a place of importance with his people. Gylledra decided not to correct his assumption of Nasorya’s station for the time being.

“Thank you, Varok Saurfang.” She nodded and Nasorya pointed to the dead deer at her feet suddenly, brows arched in question.

“Should I bring this? I _did_ go through the trouble of dragging it all this way…” She had no visible weapons to speak of and the orc seemed to notice that fact, a fresh frown on his face. He looked almost as though he was going to ask for an explanation.

“Who says no to fresh meat?” He told her instead, shrugging.

 

* * *

 

Gylledra and Nasorya followed silently at first but as usual, it never stayed that way.

“ _Who the hell is this…green…individual? What is he_?” Nasorya asked.

“ _He is an orc, he said his name is Varok Saurfang._ ” Gylledra explained.

“ _An orc? Like that one you told me about_?”

“ _Yes…_ ”

“Plotting your escape?” Varok Saurfang said suddenly, glancing at them.

“If we wanted to escape, you’d be waking up beside a creek wondering for the next hour what your own name is.” Gylledra retorted without hesitation.

“Discourteous, isn’t it, discussing those who are present when they cannot understand you.”

“You’re really in no position to comment on discourtesy considering you might have waited at least until I had clothes _on_ to hold your weapon to my throat.” She flung back, oddly enjoying it.

“Given the opportunity, would you not seek to catch a possible enemy you did not immediately intend to kill when they are unarmed?” He asked. She scoffed.

“Perhaps, but I might have gone about it much differently. There _clearly_ were not piles of armor and weapons lying about.”

“I surmised you are a caster, dangerous whatever your state.” He gave a snort and her brows rose.

“Astute…and since it made no difference, why not wait?” She cocked her head, waiting for the next comeback but he sighed and shook his head.

“Are you so offended that an _orc_ saw your unclothed body?” He tossed her a sidelong glare, as though expecting her to be repulsed.

“Of course not. Our peoples are different enough that I assume I was abhorrent to gaze upon anyway.” Gylledra went on, flippantly, not quite knowing _what_ had gotten into her. She expected a quip about no other people comparing to orc women or some such thing but instead, he met her gaze, eyes narrowed for a long moment before turning away and trudging ahead of them.

“ _What is happening?_ ” Nasorya asked, looking bewildered.

 

* * *

 

The orcs were many, and they didn’t seem to be _extremely_ well organized, but they were put together well enough that there was a clear hierarchy of command. The Warchief appeared fairly younger than many of his brethren who quieted as Gylledra and Nasorya were brought forward. Their captor, Saurfang, spoke in Orcish and in the midst of it, Gylledra heard her name.

“ _Now_ who is being discourteous?” She folded her arms and he looked over at her.

“This is Gylledra Alenos.” He said levelly. “She is mouthy, and her maid is…odd.” The Warchief looked from the older orc to her, studying her closely.

“Maybe you should have let him say that in orcish, Gyll.” Nasorya looked mildly offended.

“I am Thrall, Warchief of the Horde.” The Warchief interjected in fluent common.

“Greetings. We had stopped to camp is all.” She replied. “This is my…”

“Handmaiden!” Nasorya offered helpfully, suddenly grinning again, clearly very amused by the whole situation. A very long time ago she had sworn her service to Gylledra, though was never treated or viewed as a servant.

“Er…handmaiden.” Gylledra repeated. “Nasorya.”

“I’ve never been a handmaiden before! What do they do?” Nasorya murmured excitedly, and not very quietly.

“I don’t know…curtsy or something…” Gylledra offered, shrugging one shoulder.

“Right!” Nasorya very badly executed a curtsy, nearly toppling over as the orcs around them stared, speechless. Gylledra gave a snort of laughter but coughed to cover it and Thrall cleared his throat.

“You do not look like the elves we have seen.” The Warchief commented.

“I’m not sure what the elf population is up to these days, but I suppose it isn’t a surprise if they look different, it _has_ been a long time.” Gylledra told him. “I’ve been away a while. The rest of _my_ people, I imagine, are still _safe_ in their city beneath their shield, hiding from the outside world.”

“But _you_ were not content to remain in safety?” Saurfang asked, hijacking the interrogation.

“Never. I was a soldier before and during the first invasion…”

“First invasion of what?” He’d stepped closer, peering down at her.

“Of the Legion. They came the first time in an attempt to destroy this world and have already set into motion their plans to try again.” She watched the piercing amber gaze as it bore into her. “I have done everything I can to fight them since then. Now, the world I come from is threatened once more and I’ve come to try and make ready those who live here while there is still time.”

“Orcs are not unfamiliar with demons. If not for their influence, we might still have a home world of our own.” The old orc explained. Gylledra nodded, sobering a bit more.

“I can see plainly enough as I have witnessed on countless worlds before, you are taking your people away from those who would subjugate and enslave you. I am aligned to no faction or kingdom here, I seek to preserve the world itself with everything and everyone that lives here, your lives, their lives, my own…the Legion must _not_ take this world too.” She told him. Thrall and Nasorya both stood side-by-side with arms crossed, simply observing the exchange.

“You understand, of course, knowing that we are trying to get away, why it is not possible to simply let you go? We are hunted by humans and their allies; you pose a threat whether you mean us harm or not.” Saurfang replied. Gylledra stepped closer and poked him in the chest with one finger.

“I assure you, Varok Saurfang, I am only in your _custody_ because I _want_ to be.” She gave a small smile as he arched one brow wryly.

“Oh _really_?” Nasorya almost cackled.

“I came to help prepare people of Azeroth for invasion. I would like to help you in your endeavor if you would accept it.” Gylledra firmly ignored her friend’s outburst.

“Did you seek us out?”

“How can you even ask me that?” Gylledra almost laughed. “I was naked by a stream!” Thrall’s brows shot up but still he made no move to enter the conversation. Varok’s ears darkened a little bit. “I was _not_ aware that we were in such close proximity to any people. I don’t go from place to place with a standing army, I don’t want to be mistaken as an invader myself. So far, Azeroth is the only world to withstand a Legion invasion. I believe it can be done again, and I will do whatever it takes to rally strength and forces against the coming onslaught. The losses we had last time were catastrophic, the world is nothing like it was because of that war. I think with better preparation, they can be beat.”

“You are a warrior then?” He looked skeptically at her attire.

“Yes, I am.” Her reply was quiet, but she put her hands out in front of her and her eyes flashed as the pale silvery markings visible on her face seemed to glow. Ribbons of bright, white-blue and dark, almost black, purple twisted and undulated, forming a long scythe, its blade made of the magic itself. The orcs around her all moved back except Thrall and Saurfang, most reaching for their own weapons. Before their eyes, the scythe changed into a spear and then into a sword, and she gripped the handle. “I am adept with any blade…or bow.” The sword vanished and as she reached out in front of her, the swirling magic formed an ornate longbow in her hand, which she drew back. As she did, a dark arrow appeared and she released it, hitting a small sapling far away. The young tree withered and turned black before she made a small gesture toward it, returning it to its former state.

“A magic-wielder, as I said.” Saurfang murmured, not appearing altogether pleased.

“Yes, I am. I have to be, because when demons are killed in a physical realm, their bodies die but their essence returns to the Twisting Nether; there, the body is rebuilt so that they may return to fight again.” She explained. “They are never truly defeated unless they are killed _in_ the Twisting Nether. The weapons I have fashioned for myself kill their bodies and trap their essence…their _souls_ if you will. Then, in the Nether…I ensure their destruction.” There was a long pause as Thrall mulled over her words. “I am a capable fighter, with certain skills I imagine your people do not possess. I could be very useful.”

“At what cost to us?” Saurfang voiced the question that likely was going through the minds of many of the orcs listening in. Gylledra turned, looking up at him again. He seemed a very serious orc, not especially willing to trust a stranger just on her word, not that she blamed him, she was certainly a very suspicious individual.

“Agreeing to fight in the coming war against the Legion has the same cost as any war, lives will be lost. The cost of _not_ fighting against them is far greater, I assure you.” Her bow vanished as well as the other signs of magic about her.

“If this invasion comes as you say, there is no option but to stand against them.” Thrall finally spoke, but Gylledra wasn’t looking at him. There was something about Varok Saurfang that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. The Warchief continued, nevertheless. “We are reminded every day of what demons can do, of what the choice to accept their _magic_ made us into.”

“We are not as we were meant to be outside or within because of the taint of Fel.” Varok opened his palms, looking at them.

“I understand.” Her voice was quiet. “I have witnessed it firsthand again and again.” Yes, she had seen it, particularly the pain and regret in his eyes, the haunted shadows, the ghosts that had yet to leave him, that likely never would. “The Legion _must_ be destroyed.” Varok gave a single nod in reply, his eyes on hers for a moment. Still, he puzzled her, but at least they agreed about the Legion.

 

* * *

 

When it became clear that nothing especially interesting or violent was happening with the strange visitors in the camp, the orcs grew bored of Gylledra and Nasorya, who had accepted food from Thrall and were sitting with him and Varok at a small fire.

“Was this my deer?” Nasorya asked with food still in her mouth. She never seemed especially feral to Gylledra until the presence of other people made it apparent that she kind of was.

“It was curious to find that it died from nearly having its head chewed off.” Varok was very shrewd; advanced age among orcs was not achieved through stupidity.

“A fresh kill is a fresh kill, is it not?” Gylledra said before Nasorya could blurt whatever inciting thing was on the tip of her tongue, but it didn’t stop her, it never did.

“I could have found it like that. Just killed, luckily…I _am_ just a helpless handmaiden, head full of fluff.” She shrugged her shoulders, batting her eyes very unconvincingly.

“I doubt _all_ of those things, somehow.” Varok grumbled.

“Why? I am _odd_ , after all.” She replied, almost petulantly. Several quiet moments followed as they ate.

“You have fought the Legion all this time, so you are familiar with how they operate?” Thrall asked. Gylledra looked up at him with a nod.

“Oh yes, I know them very well…and they know me.”

“What does that mean?” Varok asked.

“It means they fear me. If I actually had an army, they would fear me even more.” She smiled.

“One elf can frighten demons?” Thrall frowned.

“If you torture and kill enough of them, they will fear you too.” She continued eating into the slightly awkward silence.

“Who are your people?” Varok fired another question at her and she looked at him across the fire.

“The Shal’dorei.” She told him. “A very long time ago, our queen betrayed us all when she aligned herself with Sargeras and his Legion. It led to almost complete annihilation and the shattering of the land. Even now I don’t know what happened to those who were outside of Suramar, if anyone survived.”

“Why have you not returned to Suramar?” Thrall spoke up.

“Because no one can get in, and no one can get out.”

“Except you.” Varok pointed out.

“Well, I had some outside help after 3,500 years.” She gave an enigmatic smirk.

“And then began your war against the Legion.” Thrall concluded. Gylledra nodded, though there was more to it than that.

“I’ve seen so many worlds fall to the Legion, and they are coming back to _this_ world, _my_ world…I cannot fail here where I have failed before. I cannot listen again to the screams of dying people, millions of innocents destroyed.” She looked down, her hands folded as she leaned her elbows on her knees. “War is all I know, but it is not all I desire. There is little I won’t do to stamp out the Legion and any who support them and willingly bear the taint of fel.”

“What of the orcs then?” Varok got to his feet. “Are we not tainted by the demon blood we willingly drank?” Anger flashed in his eyes, but she knew it wasn’t at her. “It changed all of us, even those who did not put the cup to their lips.”

“I cannot see that you bear it willingly now.” She replied. “Your people have been wielded as a weapon and used like tools in attempt to further their cause. I’ve seen it before…and once you were no longer deemed useful, they abandoned you, expecting like others that had used that way, you would starve without the fel and simply die off.” A smile curled on her lips. “The biggest weakness of the Legion is arrogance, the assumption that no creatures are greater than them, it’ll be their undoing. I’ve known _you_ mere hours and it’s plain enough that you’re all too stubborn to meet the lowly expectations of Sargeras.”

 

* * *

 

“So, what do you think of these _Orcs_ , Gyll?” Nasorya asked in Shalassian. Their bedrolls were set up not far from their fire, conspicuously surrounded by orcs…just in case they decided to flee in the night.

“I think they’re a strong, honor-bound people. The Highborne would no doubt would find them to be savages, but there is much more to them than that.” Gylledra replied. She was on her side, her head on one arm folded beneath it as she watched the back of Varok’s head. His bedroll was only a few yards off, well within earshot and he was _not_ asleep. He was listening despite not understanding their language. His back was to them and she stared sleepily in his direction. “Strong and stubborn, I think I quite like them already.” She chuckled softly.

“You’ll fit right in.”

“Precisely.” She turned to look back at Nasorya who had a look on her face that Gylledra recognized easily.

“Mm, yes they seem strong indeed.” She mused. “I bet they get rough…”

“I’m sure you’ll find out, do let me know how it goes.” Gylledra snorted.

“Maybe you’ll find out for yourself.” Nasorya looked diabolical as Gylledra could practically see the ideas formulating in her mind.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“ _You’d_ like that.” Nasorya retorted.

“Yes, I imagine so.” Gylledra stifled a giggle as Nasorya suddenly let out a louder-than-intended gasp-squeak of surprise at the unexpected response. A number of orcs stirred and Varok shifted and looked over his shoulder at them. Gylledra stuck her tongue out at him and his eyes widened somewhat before he shook his head and turned back over. Stretching a little, she yawned and turned onto her back.

“I bet _he_ would like to have a go at you. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since before you put your clothes back _on_.” Nasorya hissed through an impish grin. “And you made him blush!”

“I did, didn’t I?” Gylledra chuckled.

“And he seemed awfully interested in asking you all those questions, the Warchief couldn’t get a word in edgewise.”

“Of course, he is interested, Nasorya, he’s concerned we’re going to get them all killed.” Gylledra gave another laugh. “I doubt an elf is eligible fare to an orc for a bedfellow.”

“How would you know?”

“Have you seen their women? They are bigger and far fiercer than I am.”

“Perhaps, but have they killed as many as you?” Nasorya wasn’t going to let it go.

“That’s a bad metric to go by, I’ve lived much longer.” Gylledra told her.

“I’ve wandered the whole of existence with you for thousands of years, Gylledra, maybe it’s finally time to stop handling swords and ah… _handle a sword_ , so to speak.”

“I’ve managed not to catch an eye for eleven thousand years, Nas, I doubt that’s changing _now_. Probably better to avoid the distraction anyway.”

“Yes, I know, I’ve been around for _most_ of those years. Getting your hair mussed in high grass doesn’t have to be a distraction. _Feelings_ are distractions.” Nasorya went on. She flopped over ungracefully, looking up at the inky black sky, dotted with shimmering stars. She ran her fingers through her purple, oddly iridescent hair, twirling a strand absentmindedly.

“Well, I don’t need to risk catching any of those, now do I?” Gylledra sighed.

“Ha, if the day ever came, I’d eat my hat.”

“You don’t have a hat.”

“I’ll get one.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sleep beside the fire surrounded by orcs had been fitful at best, though that wasn’t particularly different from any other night for Gylledra. But she was curious about the orcs, and had stared at the stars for most of the night wondering about them. Where had they come from? How did they get here? What was their previous involvement with the Legion? Before the Sundering, aside from that one stray orc, there had been _no_ orcs in Kalimdor. She could only imagine the outrage and disgust Azshara would have had for a people like that. Knowing what little about them as she did, Gylledra liked them better already, if for no other reason than that mad bitch would have hated them.

Since they were strangers, Thrall had revealed almost nothing about his people or their predicament to Gylledra and Nasorya. It would have been more surprising if he _had_. She could only surmise from what she was told that likely it was the humans that sought to eradicate the orcs because of something that had happened. They bore all the signs of a suppressed people existing under the crushing weight of their own past, which was tainted with demon blood. Judging by the maps she had, it seemed their best course of action would be to find a way to cross the sea to another distant continent that little was known about. Gylledra’s next question was _how_ would they accomplish that? There were a _lot_ of orcs.

 

* * *

 

Varok Saurfang, advisor to the Warchief was saddled with keeping an eye on the “guests” it seemed. He was certainly preferable to some of the other more axe-happy individuals who eyed them with even greater suspicion. The veteran orc was revered by his people, that much was clear as well. Perhaps that was the reason he was stuck with Gylledra and Nasorya, the orcs wouldn’t dare disobey such a commander.

Everyone rose before dawn, shuffling around bleary-eyed, getting rid of the evidence of fires and covering their tracks…it was a feat to disguise the path of that many orcs, but they managed it well enough before they were on the move again. Scouts went ahead to ensure they wouldn’t be crossing paths with any possible enemies, humans in particular.

The flavorless gruel they’d inhaled as breakfast sat like a stone in Gylledra’s stomach as she walked beside Varok. It was quiet besides the footsteps on dirt, plate armor making contact with more plate, and the creak of leather straps. How many such marches had Gylledra been in like this? How many faces of soldiers and people fearing for their lives as they trudged to get away from imminent danger had she seen? She could not count them all if she tried; after so long they all blended together. Such was a life of warring.

“It is a solemn march to just another kind of war.” Varok rumbled. Gylledra’s head whipped around, startled, as she stared at him, her eyes wide with surprise. It was as though he’d pulled the thought from her mind. He frowned then. “What?”

“I was thinking nearly the same thing.” She replied and cleared her throat quietly, looking forward again. “I cannot count the warbands I have marched in.”

“Nor I.” He agreed. “We are making our way to _another_ new world, though at least this time there is no portal…but the sea, I suppose.” Gylledra quickly spotted the opportunity to ask a few questions of her own, hopefully without sounding suspiciously inquisitive.

“Where were you born?” The question came out as intended, to further the conversation, and not necessarily interrogate the orc.

“Do you really want to know?” Varok looked down at Gylledra, arching one brow; he likely hadn’t expected her to have any such interest.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know. And, I lack the subtlety to trick you into telling me.” Her comment elicited a snort of amusement from him. So, he was _not_ made of stone.

“Where orcs come from or where I come from? They are different conversations.” His eyes were back on the road ahead of them and while her intent had been to learn about the orcs in general, she decided instead to learn about him.

“Where _you_ come from.” A smile tugged at one corner of her mouth.

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“It is dull.” Varok warned.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” She gave a shrug.

“Very well.” He sighed, but not out of any real annoyance. “Our world was called Draenor. I was born in the north in Gorgrond what seems like a very, very long time ago.”

“I cannot suppose you are too terribly old.” Gylledra interjected, her eyes raking down his form, head to foot. “You don’t seem it.” Then she gestured vaguely at his axe. “ _That_ weighs more than I do.”

“I may not yet be infirm, but I am old, make no mistake.” He scoffed, then looked down at her wryly. “Flattery gets you nowhere.”

“Very well, you’re _old_ and crochety…” She started.

“Crochety?”

“Yes, clearly. If you smile, I think your face might actually crack.” She snorted. “Fine, crotchety and _dangerous_. How is that?”

“You will do well not to forget it.”

“Oh, I will not forget, you make a startling first impression.” There was a smirk on her lips.

“Likewise.” He replied evenly, and she looked up at him again, smirk replaced with mild shock. Varok made a great effort to remain looking forward, the color in his cheeks deepening somewhat. Gylledra didn’t miss his arched brow and looked away, unable to wrest the grin off her face.

She caught sight of Nasorya who was within earshot a short distance back, grinning with a worrisome menace. She made a circle with her thumb and fingers, thrusting her other index finger suggestively through it. Gylledra’s mouth dropped open as she discretely made a different rude gesture in return, almost sending her filthy-minded friend into hysterics.

“My clan are the Blackrock, as I said yesterday.” Varok went on.

“Your feeble memory goes _all_ the way back to yesterday?” She teased, seemingly overcome by whatever affliction Nasorya had that kept _her_ from ever holding her tongue. He made a somewhat frustrated noise.

“ _You_ asked, if you do not wish to know…”

“I’m sorry.” She grabbed his forearm as he moved to walk past her. Varok looked back, a little surprised and she quickly let go. “Please, tell me.” He sighed and fell in beside her again.

“The Blackrock were a true force to be reckoned with, born and bred into war, I have known little else. When the old Horde came together, I was made a lieutenant of the Warchief.” He paused as they marched onward for several beats. “Then came the Fel and the warlocks, consuming everything in their path, drying our rivers, withering our forests…eventually starving the world itself to death. Mistakes were made by many seeking to become stronger, we came to this world, conquered and then were conquered in return…though perhaps that’s a conversation for another time.”

“Ah, of course…I apologize…I didn’t mean to make you relive it…”

“A history steeped in tragedy, I relive it every time I close my eyes regardless.” He seemed resigned to that fate, to being forced to experience the memories and the pain that came with them again and again. Gylledra had wallowed enough in her own guilt to know what it meant to accept the haunting memories as penance.

Observing the orcs in her immediate vicinity, she retreated into her own thoughts. They had been beaten down, wills broken and then mended…she saw in them hope. They were hopeful for a new land, to find a new home. They couldn’t return to the one they came from, even if they could have, as Varok already said, Draenor, had died.

She listened to the indistinct conversations happening around her, understanding none of them, and Gylledra turned to him. “Will you teach me Orcish?”

“What?” He almost stopped in his tracks, the nearly-permanent frown deepened but he blinked, having no idea what to make of her. It wasn’t that he hadn’t heard her, but more the astonishment at the question. It would be safer, less serious conversation than delving into the wars they’d experienced. Gylledra didn’t feel particularly inclined to bare the very essence of herself to an orc she had known less than a day.

“I’ll teach you mine if you teach me yours.” She gave a playful sort of shrug and though he shook his head with disbelief, he couldn’t hide the very small, but still existent smile she had finally pulled out of his stony, frowning face.

“Very well. If nothing else, it will pass the time.” He told her.

Gylledra’s desire to learn to speak Orcish had a dual purpose; first, she _did_ want to learn to speak with the orcs in their own language, but secondly, it would keep Saurfang talking. In a matter of hours, she had mastered rudimentary Orcish conversation and they switched to Shalassian, which he seemed to get a grasp of somewhat more quickly than she’d been learning orcish, much to her chagrin.

“ _Your language feels strange in my mouth_.” Varok told Gylledra.

“ _You know what feels strange in MY mouth?_ ” Nasorya seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“ _For the love of fuck, Nasorya!_ ” Gylledra hissed.

“ _Close!_ ” She snickered.

“ _I see profanity is universal_.” Varok commented and Gylledra whirled around, finding him straight faced but with a spark of amusement in his eyes that belied his curmudgeonly expression.

“I did not teach you ‘ _profanity’_ OR ‘ _universal’_.” She narrowed her eyes at him and he _almost_ chuckled.

“The two of you don’t talk particularly quietly.” He replied. She’d clearly underestimated him, and it was intriguing that he had picked up on their speech in so short a time.

“Clever.” She murmured then suddenly Nasorya leaned in and spouted off in Orcish. Varok’s brows arched high suddenly and he looked away. Gylledra simply stared as laughing, Nasorya departed.

Nasorya, left to her own devices, had picked up Orcish with no more effort than it took to listen to others speaking it. She had an uncanny knack for languages and knew many more than Gylledra did. She was chattering on conversationally to just about anyone who would listen. Her bald-faced optimism and lack of self-consciousness somehow seemed to put people they met at ease. Gylledra wasn’t always the most comforting of people, her skills with warmth weren’t particularly honed.

 

* * *

 

The expansive band of orcs was making its way back across the Hillsbrad Foothills toward an Alliance Port, where they intended to take all available ships and cross the Great Sea to the continent of Kalimdor. The orcs were seeking to be the masters of their own lives, and they would make formidable allies against the Legion, Gylledra thought. She had considered looking for any elves that might still exist outside of Suramar, but didn’t know the state of the Night Elf empire, if they had even survived as night elves at all. With the Well of Eternity destroyed, she assumed their immortality had gone with it.

The day began its descent into evening and there was a sudden commotion up ahead, accompanied by a high pitched very non-orc scream. The sound of it cut through Gylledra like a blade as she and Varok made their way toward it at once. The orcs had gathered around something and were moving in menacingly toward whatever it was. Craning her neck, and pushing past those who would let her, she saw the two very small humans— _children_ —frozen in terror. They were unarmed with anything besides a basket full of berries, a dead rabbit, and the snare they’d used to catch it with.

“No!” Gylledra cried, seeing the cowering children. She tried to shove through the shoulder to shoulder orcs without luck. The orcs fully intended to kill the children, of that she had no doubt.

“ _Stand aside!_ ” Varok boomed in Orcish, his order obeyed at once. She ran through, standing in front of the young humans. The elder was an adolescent girl, terror alight in her large brown eyes and the other was a very small boy, clinging to the girl’s legs, whimpering.

“They’re _humans!_ ” A voice snarled from the crowd.

“They’re _children!_ ” She snapped back. “What does killing innocents achieve?”

“Not having the alarm sounded so that they send more humans after us.” An orc woman replied, her tone sharp and angry.

“Can you think of no other solution?” She scoffed in reply and suddenly a dark purple ring burned itself into the ground surrounding Gylledra and the children, sigils of bright blue fading in and out of view around it. None who intended harm to those within the ring would be able to cross it and she turned to the trembling humans. “Sleep.” She said quietly, and both of them collapsed. She caught them both before they could hit the ground and lowered them carefully. When they woke, the orcs would be gone, and the children would, at most, believe it was a dream if they remembered anything at all.

Varok watched her, his thick, muscled arms crossed, axe gripped in one hand. His expression was firm, but he approved, she could see it. There was no honor in slaying children, whether they were meant to grow into adults that would take up arms and hunt them or not.

“Just because humans might kill or capture orcs and orc children without a second thought does not make doing the same to their children permissible.” She snarled. “Fight an enemy that can fight back, rise above what they are, what they have done.” It was clear enough none of them liked what she had to say, but also there were no verbalized arguments against it, and so they let her pass as she made her way back toward Nasorya. Many had turned to Varok, perhaps hoping for permission despite her protest.

“Leave the human children. If any cross that circle and it doesn’t kill you, I will.” It was no threat that Varok Saurfang made, he was not the sort to do so. His voice rang with promise and finality. Gylledra was not certain how he would react, but she was glad he did. There were cries of dissent and complaint, but he put a hand up. “What would you do? Slay their young for your momentary satisfaction? All it would do is incite more rage, the humans would gather and rise up to follow us wherever we go. Stow your rage and think of your own children.”

 

* * *

 

As the sun dipped below the mountains and tree line, the orc exodus halted to set up camp. Small fires were lit, meat cooked, drinks poured…Gylledra stared into the fire, wondering if she should not have so quickly decided to travel with the orcs. But had she not…would those children still be alive? Would Varok still have stopped the slaughter?

She had not been warmly welcomed into the fold before, of course, but now the orcs were being outright cold toward her. Though somewhat bothersome, she was not terribly upset by it as she resolved to stay true to this path she’d chosen, the road to trust was not straight or smooth. Even the fast friendships Nasorya had made seemed to be giving _her_ the cold shoulder as well, which resulted in her sitting cross-legged on the ground poking aimlessly at the food in her wooden bowl as she sulked.

“You were not wrong, Gylledra.” Varok told her quietly. Her gaze flicked over to where he sat but she turned back to the fire.

“I know.” She murmured, getting to her feet.

“I will not raise my axe to an innocent, nor allow others to do so if it is within my power to stop them.”

“That’s one of you, at least.”

“It was not always so.” He didn’t look her in the eye, taking a bite of his food.

“No, I expect not. I have found that it isn’t until we have spilt innocent blood that we understand its value.” Without waiting to see Varok’s reaction, she walked away from the fire toward the woods to relieve herself. _Yes, there is much I am not proud of_ , she thought to herself.

 

* * *

 

Gylledra made her way back to the fire where Varok stood, putting on more logs. Just as she reached it, she was shoved _hard_ from behind and she stumbled, falling headlong into him, and he caught her, giving an irritated snarl over her head at whoever had done it. With cheeks burning hot, Gylledra pulled away from him, turning to find a very angry orc woman baring her teeth, rage in her eyes. Gylledra nearly thought to apologize for perhaps tripping on her or bumping into her, but no, it had been an intentional shove.

“I have no quarrel with you…” She started.

“Nevertheless, Gylledra, she has one with you and you must answer the challenge how you will.” Varok replied quietly, leaning down. With a small, frustrated sound, her jaw clenched and unclenched before she took a deep breath to calm herself.

“You do not belong amongst us, none who would defend a _human_ should be allowed to live let alone eat at our fires.” Gylledra recalled that the orc woman was called Pava, she had been one of Nasorya’s new friends.

“I protected innocent human children the same as I would protect innocent orc children from humans, as I would protect _any_ children from harm.” Gylledra replied.

“A human is a human.” Pava sneered. “We don’t need or want you or your magic here, magic has already done enough.”

“The Legion and their fel tore you apart, not me. Just as the humans tore you apart were not those children.” It seemed useless to attempt reasoning with an orc who had already made up her mind to fight.

“What are you without your magic?”

“I am skilled enough on my own, but I do not wish to fight you…with or without magic.” Gylledra told her despite the futility of it.

“You are free to decline my challenge, elf, but if you do, then you must leave here and never show your face again.” Pava looked delighted by that prospect and Gylledra glanced toward Varok who gave a nearly imperceptible nod as though to say yes, those _are_ the rules.

“Then I accept your challenge, Pava, and I agree to whatever stipulations you deem fair and honorable for this combat.” She replied with a small shrug. A murmur rippled outward from those who were now watching intently. Dinner _and_ entertainment, Gylledra thought wryly.

Nasorya was staring wide-eyed with interest and anticipation as she continued industriously devouring her meal. There was little that could stop her from eating, not even Gylledra being challenged to single combat.

“Fine.” Pava almost seemed disappointed that she had not frightened Gylledra out of fighting; the orc woman had no idea of course the things she had seen and the great unlikeliness that Gylledra would ever be intimidated into cowardice. “Staves only, _no_ magic.” She’d been expecting axes but was silently thankful that their weapons would not be bladed. She truly did not want to hurt the orc. Thrall had appeared but made no move to intervene. This was not his conflict, and unless one of them was caught cheating, he would stay out of it.

“Very well.” Gylledra nodded and a wide circle was cleared, shadows of fire flickering on the dirt between them. A long, wooden staff was thrust into her hands and she spun it idly, getting a lay of the land, so to speak, of the ground between them. It was flat, no rocks, relatively little to cause problems; it would be a straightforward fight.

There was no doubt in Gylledra’s mind of Pava’s skills as a warrior. She was bigger, physically stronger, and had experience in battle. Neither of them would come out of the encounter unscathed.

Pava did not hesitate, attacking with a barrage of strikes that Gylledra dodged or deflected. To try and bluntly block a strike from the powerful orc would have meant a broken staff or badly rattled bones. She had trained in melee before she had ever trained to fight with magic; the Moon Guard, despite valuing arcane power as much as they did, wanted no guards that could not fight without magic.

Gylledra initially aimed to tire her opponent out somewhat, though she didn’t believe an orc would tire quickly by any means. The savage need deep inside her grew bored of blocking and avoiding and without warning, she went on the offensive. Gylledra was smaller and faster than Pava, striking her rapidly about the midsection, but she was hesitating and caught a hook punch to the face that sent her reeling backward into the dirt. She recovered quickly though, rolling and smoothly getting to her feet.

“Stop holding back!” Pava snarled and per her request, caught the butt of Gylledra’s staff hard to the face. She attacked the orc relentlessly, giving her no opportunity to anticipate the next move as she was struck by the last one. Pava landed hard on her back and Gylledra snatched her staff out of the air, hurtling it like a javelin where one end imbedded deep in the dirt outside their circle. The orc grabbed the front of Gylledra’s vest and tossed her with disconcerting ease across their makeshift fighting ring. She hit the ground hard but rolled sideways, staff still in hand, and kipped-up to her feet, chest heaving. There was no time to think before her opponent rushed her, but Gylledra got low, tackling Pava at waist level, sending them both into the dirt with a heavy thud and various _oofs_.

The fight needed to end, Gylledra knew they were both capable of brawling for a long time, but there was no point to it, none but the one she was about to make. Pava fumbled to her feet only to have her misplace momentum used against her as she was thrown back onto the ground. Gylledra stalked toward her, staff in hand and the orc’s eyes widened, expecting…or perhaps fearing, a killing blow, but instead, with one swift movement, Gylledra broke the thick staff in half over her own knee and with a ragged cry, jammed the tapered ends into the dirt on either side of Pava’s head.

Silence stretched on for several beats, the only sound was that of the combatants’ breath as they tried to catch it and the fires that crackled merrily around them.

“I will not kill you, Pava.” Gylledra panted. “Not because I cannot, because I _choose_ not to. I do not think you should die, certainly not by _my_ hand! I am not here to take anything from you, or gain anything for myself. I was born into this world and I want to protect it from the same force that ultimately destroyed _your_ home. There is no honor in dying against someone who is _not_ your enemy and doesn’t wish to kill you.” She held her hand out to the prone, now bewildered orc. Pava blinked, confused, but finally took the proffered hand, allowing Gylledra to help her to her feet. “Words mean nothing, I know that. I ask only for the opportunity to prove them.” Pava nodded slowly.

“You fought with honor, I did not expect that.” She thumped her fist over her heart, a gesture mirrored by the spectators. “I misjudged you.” Gylledra gave a nod and Pava made her way through an opening in the crowd, the faces of which seemed much more accepting than before.

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

Saurfang was not sure what to make of the elf and her unusual horned handmaiden. Since he was the one to find them and bring them back, they were his responsibility; on his watch they wouldn’t be killed at least. He had observed the occasional elf since coming to Azeroth, though they’d been small like humans, much slighter of build and fairer complexion. Gylledra Alenos was as unlike those elves as he thought it was possible to be; she was taller and built like a warrior; her hair was long and dark, not yellow like those he’d seen. Her eyes were somewhat luminescent at night, and what could only be described as…dark, shimmering moss during the day.

Gylledra’s companion was…probably the strangest female he’d ever set eyes on. She was similar in height to her elven friend, but much slighter of build and oddly…gray…with bright violet eyes. Though her most peculiar feature of all were the horns. She was _not_ an elf and neither she nor Gylledra had said _what_ she was.

Neither had shown concern for their own lives in the presence of orcs, not even when he’d surprised Gylledra in her camp. In his mind, those who showed no fear when faced with orcs were either very, very stupid, already dead, or powerful enough they had nothing to fear. In this case he was certain it was the third option despite neither of them strutting or posturing.

The horned one flitted about talking to anyone who made eye contact; she was oddly charismatic and disturbingly likeable. He surmised that Gylledra was likely the more dangerous of the two, were they to pose a threat. For as outgoing as Nasorya was, Gylledra was much less so, usually not making conversation with someone new unless they spoke to her first. She had spoken with him more than any of the others and begrudgingly, he’d enjoyed it. He thought she was funny, her wit very sharp, and her mind sharper still. She seemed to understand war in the way _he_ understood it, which was unexpected. She also was not afraid of him and he liked that…also begrudgingly.

Gylledra showed honor; her fight with Pava made that evident. She accepted the challenge and adhered to the rules when she could have easily decimated her opponent with magic. She risked her own life to protect innocent children, even if they _were_ the offspring of enemies. In particular, that had stayed with him for the rest of the day and it still was on his mind. He felt a stab of shame as he remembered a time that honor and innocence meant nothing to him.

While the camp slept, Saurfang walked the perimeter silently, keeping watch. Approaching his own dying fire, he saw Gylledra sitting beside it, prodding the orange coals with a stick. The expression on her face was one he knew well.

“I can see the ghosts haunting you, Gylledra.” He told her, approaching out of the darkness behind her. He sat down on an up-ended log. She’d been aware of his presence and was not startled.

“There are many.” She whispered. “Sometimes, I’m not able to keep them at bay…mostly at night when the world around me is quiet enough I can still hear their voices. And so…I rarely sleep.” A quick glance upward and she saw him staring across the embers into space. He had his own ghosts, as she said, many.

“The nights are difficult.” He agreed. Somehow, in spite of his suspicion and concern that he had regarding the unusual strangers, he felt at ease in her presence, free to say what he liked. It was tempting to suspect her magic at work, but she had not used it for anything small or mundane for her own benefit. It was unlikely she would use it to put one orc at ease.

“I was given much to think on today.” She set the stick down and let out a long breath.

“Oh?”

“Seeing your people as you make your way to a new land to escape the humans, coming upon those terrified children…all my time at war…it has been thousands of years of…failure, of watching innocent lives taken, destroyed…but…no worlds saved. I have cut down countless demons and where one falls, five more take its place.” Gylledra eyes were still distant, looking into the hot ash as it still spit embers into the air; there was a flash of anguish on her face as she put her hand over her chest. “It has been so long, I have fought so much…I cannot stop, I don’t know how.” She finally looked up at Saurfang and found him watching her, not with pity or sympathy, but with understanding. He had not lived for millennia, but his entire life had been war, too. He knew the weariness she described very well. “There are these moments of sweeping despair and I wonder what has it all been for? Yet I will not give up, I swore an oath, I pledged my life to the fight no matter the outcome.” She shook her head sadly. “But I grow tired…not my body, but in my essence. It is as if a chasm has opened up, what once I could fill with war and spilt blood in the name of vengeance and what I thought was righteousness, no longer even has a bottom that I can see.” She looked down again, her hands on her middle. “It seems strange…or ridiculous even…to ask…how have you carried on?”

“We endure because honor demands it.” He replied stoically. She nodded, there was no disputing that. He was curious, though. “To whom did you swear your oath?”

“I swore it to the Life Binder…Eonar. She is a Titan…or what is left of one anyway. Sargeras killed her, but her spirit fled to Elunaria, one of the uncorrupted worlds I sometimes enjoyed visiting when I needed to feel goodness again.” Gylledra explained. “The titans put this world, and many others, into order. I found her there in a sanctuary where she was hiding, and she knew everything about me only by looking in my eyes.”

“Who is Sargeras?” Saurfang asked. She rose and moved to the log beside his to keep her voice from carrying.

“He was once a titan himself, he sits at the head of the Burning Legion and is responsible for your world’s destruction and the Sundering of mine. He is the absolute enemy. I do not suppose he revealed himself to your world or its inhabitants. He has his lieutenants do his dirty work.” She let out a long breath, but smiled. “It is too easy to fall into despair over all the horrors I have seen, but when I think of Eonar, I feel happy. I swore myself to her service and to that of all that remains of the Pantheon and she bid me to fight, to use even darkness to combat the demons.”

“What darkness is that?” He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. He had witnessed firsthand the darkness wrought by the fel.

“The Void…shadow magic. It is the opposite of the Light, though neither is inherently good or bad, it is what is done with such power that aligns it one way or the other. It was because of the shadow that I was able to escape Suramar. I had been doing research in our great libraries and unwisely playing with very volatile uses of the arcane. Arcane made me Nightborne, after all. I found that the Legion sought to eradicate all life to prevent Void Lords from creating a dark titan that would annihilate all existence.”

“So, this titan is seeking to annihilate all existence…so that another titan cannot do exactly that?” Saurfang shook his head. “That’s complete madness.”

“That is exactly what it is. So, he feared the Void and I began to learn to bend it to my will and grew as proficient with it as I was with arcane. My dabbling drew the attention of…one who sought to squash any misuse of the void. Fortunately for me I was able to prove to him that I wished only to fight the Legion. He was the one that broke my dependence on the Night Well, the font of power sustaining Suramar and all of my people. He took me away, and I began my journey.” She shrugged. “He helped me further master my powers, much happened…and now, here I am.”

“That is quite a history.” He murmured. There was much she spoke of that he knew nothing about, but he believed that she truly wished to rise against the mad titan. Even without knowing her long, Saurfang knew that something he did not ever want to be was Gylledra’s enemy.

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

The orcs were only about a day’s travel from the port at Southshore, the plan was to get close enough by nightfall to infiltrate and acquire all the ships that they could under the cover of darkness. They were headed for a large continent called Kalimdor, which Gylledra thought was interesting, considering that before the Well had been destroyed, the land when whole was called Kalimdor. They made good time, though, bolstered by the fact they were so close to finally leaving the Eastern Kingdoms behind, and everything that had happened there.

The sun had just set, and the energy and anticipation were palpable. Thrall had given explicit orders to not make any unnecessary kills, and that any that _were_ necessary were to be quiet and _neat_. Gylledra wasn’t sure what a neat kill constituted for an orc, but she imagined it was different from how she would define it.

“How did you find out about Kalimdor?” Gylledra asked Thrall. He looked down at her as though debating internally whether or not to answer her question. She had been much less forthcoming with him than Varok, though she had no concrete reason why. Thrall seemed trustworthy and to genuinely care about the wellbeing of his people.

“I received a vision indicating that remaining here would be damning to the orcs survival, and that across the sea in Kalimdor is where our destiny lies.” His eyes narrowed at her, waiting for some negative reaction perhaps but all Gylledra did was nod.

“Makes sense, this land is already claimed and inhabited by humans and others…likely they would seek to hunt you to extinction.” She replied, and he looked somewhat relieved.

“That is one of many concerns, yes. If you are still willing, your assistance would be welcome.”

“I will do what I can to minimize the chances of the townsfolk rising and noticing all their ships being taken.” She couldn’t help but grin.

“Isn’t Kalimdor what everything was called?” Nasorya asked.

“Yes, a very long time ago.” Gylledra replied.

“I would like to hear about old Kalimdor sometime.” Thrall told her.

“Before the Sundering?” Varok approached from behind and the Warchief’s brow furrowed looking from him to Gylledra.

“You’ve told Saurfang stories already?”

“Some…”

“Oh, Gylledra…you made a friend!” Nasorya grinned.

“I thought I should have more than one, I’ve listened to your yammering for nigh unto four millennia. I’m broadening my horizons.” Gylledra quipped.

“Yes, broaden them…the _wider_ the better, really. I do, however, suggest starting slow…” Nasorya winked and Gylledra rolled her eyes and sighed, good-naturedly.

“She’s probably up to what? Seven orcs already.” Gylledra muttered and Thrall inhaled sharply then coughed, blue eyes widening.

“Hey!” Nasorya frowned. “Four! I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“You’re shocking the Warchief.” Gylledra grinned and walked away, hips swaying.

 

* * *

 

The town had settled down for the night, lights winking out one by one in each house. It was large, but manageable enough to infiltrate without worrying an army would spring up. Gylledra doubted they even had much of a militia, it didn’t appear well guarded. It was easy enough for her to go unnoticed, even in full light, so she slipped into town quietly to determine the most advantageous route for the orcs to get to the docks.

There was a supply road that led mostly around the town itself to the shipyard that would involve minimal contact. That would be their best bet, she thought. There _were_ a number of night watchmen at the docks, but not many. One by one she put them to sleep and they slumped over at their stations. The ships creaked quietly in the still water, there were quite a few of them and it hadn’t occurred to her until that moment to wonder whether or not orcs even knew how to sail. _She_ knew how to at least, it had been part of her training to join the Moon Guard.

The still water was a bit of a concern, it would have been preferable to have the sound of marching orcs drown out by crashing waves. Such were the risks taken on surreptitious endeavors.

On her way back to where the orcs were waiting, Gylledra didn’t come across any wandering patrols. On one hand she was glad, on the other it meant that she simply hadn’t crossed paths with the patrols that could be wandering around. The orcs were itching to get moving though, shifting and pacing.

“I incapacitated the guards at the docks, if we take the supply road, we can get in, board, and sail out without much trouble. Everyone just needs to move fast and try to keep the noise down.” She reported. She told him how many ships there were, how they were docked and where. Thrall gave a nod and Varok clapped Gylledra on the back unexpectedly, nearly bowling her over so that he had to catch her by the shoulders and right her. She stared up at him wide-eyed.

“Good work.” He cleared his throat. “We’ll be sailing in no time.”

 

As the orcs made their way along the supply road, Gylledra waited at the docks, keeping watch for additional patrols. They piled into boat after boat and when the last orc had boarded, she jogged up a gangplank where Varok stood on deck giving orders. It took time to get them coordinated enough to leave port and by the time the coast was shrinking in the distance, the sun had started to rise.

Gylledra stood on the back of the ship, watching the town and its port getting farther and farther away as dawn broke. The pink and orange light hit the town while the residents were likely waking and starting their day. Part of her wanted to know how they’d react to find an entire fleet of ships gone in the night without a trace.

She had come to the Eastern Kingdoms unsure of who she would find there, thinking there would be some city she would need to seek the leaders of…but things had gone in a very different direction. She was of two minds…one believing that she made all the choices in her life and chose her own path, and the other, which wondered if there were perhaps meaning to things, purposes set before each individual to achieve…or not achieve. It was comforting to think that there was a reason for everything, that perhaps the loss of innocent life was not in vain, which was likely why Gylledra had such a hard time believing it. Comforting thoughts were seldom based in reality.

“Will you miss it?” Varok stepped up beside her and she shook her head, still watching the shore.

“It is not the same world I knew.” She told him. “I don’t have a home, even Suramar wasn’t after the shield went up…just a pretty prison. Though, I don’t expect to have a home anyway.”

“No? Why is that?”

“Because I will most likely die fighting the Legion.” Gylledra shrugged.

“Now you sound like an orc.” Varok’s chuckle rumbled in his chest and she looked up at him.

“Lok-tar.”


	3. Chapter 3

Orcs were not a seafaring people, as was made evident during the first week of their voyage. The primary activity on board was turning a different hue of green than usual, rushing to a railing, and then retching into the sea. Gylledra had no such issues, but even Nasorya complained of some seasickness.

Gylledra did, however, suffer from mind-numbing boredom. The orcs weren’t outwardly hostile toward her anymore, even if they’d _had_ the time or presence of mind between bouts of vomiting to shoot her disapproving glares. Nasorya vanished below decks most of the time, probably playing at cards and various dice gambling games. At least the orcs didn’t have anything to lose in betting against her.

The ship they’d chosen was the fleet’s flag ship, and it had more amenities than the others, human amenities anyway. It was the ship the fleet admiral would have called home, and his quarters were extensive, including a main room with a large table that served both as a dining table and a nautical map, a library with a desk, a water closet, and a separate bedroom. All the captain’s rooms were connected to the main room and separated with sliding pocket doors that seemed difficult enough to move that he must have just left them open most of the time…except the privy closet.

Varok had offered Gylledra and Nasorya the bedroom, to their surprise, while he slept on the floor of the small library on a collection of blankets and rugs he’d found. They figured he was keeping an eye on them still.

 

“You know, Gyllie, for all my harassing over the years, you’ve never told me _why_ you…abstain.” Nasorya declared one night. They lay side by side in the bed, the door was as closed as they were able to make it, and moonlight streamed in through the window.

“Well, you’ve never asked outright.” Gylledra replied.

“I haven’t?”

“Nope.”

“Alright, well, I’m asking.”

“There is no _particular_ reason.”  Gylledra shifted onto her side to look at her friend. “I never felt drawn to anyone whilst feeling any sort of _urge_ , I guess.”

“So truly, your _whole_ life…”

“I _did_ have a life before you came along, you know.”

“Of course, I know that…wait, so before I started following you around, you had lovers?” Nasorya gasped.

“No, before the shield, there was someone.”

“How can you have held out on me all this time?!”

“It never actually happened, Nasorya.” Gylledra sighed and rolled onto her back again. “Very nearly, but he changed his mind at the last moment and left me lying there naked, very worked up, and confused.” That particular night unfortunately stayed vivid in her memory. She understood why he had changed his mind, he didn’t feel the same way she had, it was the right thing for him to do, however painful it had been for her.

“That’s terrible…”

“I’ve not been much inclined to give it another go since then, though there _were_ offers.”

“What?! When?” Nasorya demanded, propping herself up on one elbow.

“It doesn’t matter when, I never said anything because was afraid you would try to push me toward accepting.”

“I would never push you toward something I did not think you truly wanted.” Nasorya smiled then. “But…I think now you want a lover.”

Gylledra scoffed. “Why would you think that?”

“Because I see where your eyes linger the longest these days.” Nasorya almost looked smug.

“You’re being ridiculous…”

“When no one is looking, especially when _you_ aren’t…he watches you too.”

“Are you _spying_ on people now?” Gylledra rolled her eyes. Of course she didn’t have to ask who Nasorya was referring to because very annoyingly, she was right.

“No, but you’ve been acting very odd, which makes me pay closer attention to what’s going on.” Nasorya reached out, giving Gylledra’s long braid a playful tug.

“Ow! You brat!” She retaliated with a pinch and Nasorya laughed. “I think you’re imagining things.”

“You’re also a terrible liar, this morning he was pulling rope to raise rigging up on deck and your mouth was _actually_ open, you were gaping at him as though you had never seen a male before.” Nasorya giggled. Varok Saurfang was a sight to behold, Gylledra thought. She’d given up fighting the thoughts, it was more interesting than anything else she could occupy her mind with.

“I was worrying about the rigging.” She fibbed.

“Liar.”

“It doesn’t matter, enclosed on a ship people develop all sorts of ridiculous passing fancies to wade through the monotony that is existing on a ship.” While Gylledra had stopped lying to herself about it, she couldn’t get herself to be truthful otherwise, not even to Nasorya. Though, that was in part stubbornness, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of being right.

“Do you think I’m stupid? I’ve been watching this since the bank of the creek!”

“Were it _even_ the case, I wouldn’t know the first thing about getting someone to…”

“Well, you see, Gyll, first he must get hard, and then you lie down…”

“Not _that!_ ” Gylledra gave her a shove and they both dissolved into giggles. “I’ve walked in on you often enough I am quite certain I know those particular specifics.”

“Well, if you need any tips…”

“If I’m not mistaken, it usually only involves _one_ tip, does it not?” Gylledra replied, lewdly, sending Nasorya into peals of laughter. “Shh! Shh!” Gylledra hissed between snickering. “You will wake him, he is only a room away!”

“I will happily explain the disruption…”

“Yes and then I will be forced to murder you.”

 

* * *

 

Gylledra had been spending her time trying to convince herself all the reasons she should be thinking about anyone and anything besides Varok. Naturally, the more she tried to distract from him, the more difficult it became not to watch him every moment.

The bed was littered with various books from the library which Gylledra had been reading to try and keep the tedium and other things at bay. To the captain’s credit, he had a large variety of books that ranged from poetry and stories to history and sailing techniques.

There was only so much reading she could do though before she tired of that too. The weather had been clear with steady wind, which meant there was little even for Varok to oversee and it was becoming apparent that for as much as he tried to mask it, his own boredom was eating him from the inside out.

Some of the time, Gylledra and Varok passed in conversation, which was anything but boring. It came easily, she found, and it was unexpected to find so many similarities despite them being entirely different. They shared stories, the good and the bad; she told Varok things she might not have discussed with others who would have tried to show sympathy or pity, neither of which she wanted. The weight of those memories felt lighter somehow, and it made her wonder if it seemed that way to him too. Not that she would dare to ask, there were still many lines she wasn’t about to cross.

They’d relaxed considerably, and Varok chuckled a little more freely and frowned a little less than before. Gylledra thought that he perhaps looked younger without the scowl and she amused herself speculating on what the natural state of an orc face really was. Two weeks at sea had felt like ten years and Gylledra found herself giving sailors a lot of credit for not going mad and throwing themselves into the waves after all the time they spent on ships.

 

Varok’s armor was piled in a corner and he sat at the large table, feet up, tipping back in the chair as he cleaned his nails with a knife. It was a rare sight, she thought, a completely relaxed, _bored_ orc. She watched him though, curious about what orcs thought about when idle…or not idle…she found them to be very interesting. She admired their strength, and _his_ strength…him, she admired _him_. Since her talk with Nasorya, Gylledra was even more aware of how much attention she paid the venerated warrior. Part of her still wanted to resist anything to do with that sort of involvement. It _was_ a distraction, and while that wasn’t a bad thing whilst bored on a ship, when it came time to fight again, it was a distraction neither of them could not afford.

The one thing that stopped her more than anything, was that despite anything Nasorya said, Gylledra didn’t believe one such as him could ever reciprocate even a physical attraction, considering how very unlike female orcs she was. But her mind was already on the slippery slope, damn this confined space! Her eyes lingered on his large hands, the way he gripped the knife handle, how the bands of muscles in his forearms moved as he moved…he was made entirely of muscles, she concluded, all orcs were, but Varok seemed more…noteworthy. Her little tour of his physicality continued upward over the bulging contours of his upper arms, expansive chest…broad shoulders…his long braids, sharp tusks and… _shit_. Her eyes met his as he looked back at her, brows arched high.

With her face flaming, she internally blamed Nasorya for this, there was no specific or rational reason why, but she was blaming her anyway. Gylledra had no graceful way out of being caught staring so she simply looked away, staring instead at the wall, and cleared her throat quietly. _Shit!_ she cursed mentally again.

Stir-crazy and in need of _anything_ diverting, Gylledra lurched to her feet and started opening every drawer and cabinet she could find. The large, ornate desk had more drawers and compartments with barely any rhyme or reason to them than any piece of furniture she had ever seen.

“Are human minds as erratic and nonsensical as their furniture?” She muttered aloud in the midst of getting a not-so-secret secret compartment open.

“I am _not_ the one to look to for information on that particular subject matter. I’ve put my axe into far many more than I ever stopped to have a discussion with.” Varok replied. Gylledra paused, looking at him for a moment, lips pursed, envisioning him swinging that monstrous axe of his… _for the love of fuck, STOP!_ She screamed silently at her own brain.

“Fair point.” She gave a nod. “I suspect whoever built this travesty of abused wood thought they were being very clever.” The panel popped open and she reached in, pulling out a brown, leather bound journal. It looked very similar to the captain’s log book which had been in the only unlocked drawer of the desk. “Well, usually _boring_ things aren’t locked away in hidden slots of a desk, no?”

“Anything ought to be more interesting than that logbook of his.” Varok snorted.

Sitting back at the table, Gylledra unwound the thin leather cord holding the journal closed around an ornate metal fixture on the cover. Inside, on the first page, the words _The Memoire of Captain Benjin Clordynk_ , were scrawled. She started reading and sighed.

“You were wrong, Varok.” She said after three or four pages, disappointed.

“Hm?” He set the knife on the table, folding his hands across his stomach, looking like he might want to take a nap. _Orcs don’t nap_, she thought, they really needed to get off this ship.

“Benjin Clordynk’s personal diary is about as stimulating as his logbooks.” Gylledra sighed. “I suppose one wouldn’t come to be a fleet admiral of sorts by not being consistent and predictable. Makes for terrible reading, though. He even mentions a fledgling affair with the dock master’s wife, and somehow even makes _that_ dull.”

With the captain’s secret journal failing to provide the entertainment they were hoping for, Gylledra went about systematically opening the rest of the cabinets in the room. She came to the one directly behind the desk. The bottom part of it, which was fairly large, was locked.

“Toss me that.” She said vaguely and without further clarification, Varok grabbed and tossed the knife he’d been using. She caught it deftly and jammed the blade into the latch, popping it free at once. The door swung open and inside was a good sized wooden cask. Craning his neck over one shoulder, Varok eyed her progress.

“Powder keg or drink?” He asked. Gylledra rocked it, the contents sloshing within.

“Drink!” She carried it to the table and he took his feet down, sitting up to take a look.

“Preferable of the options. Question now is it good or is it piss water?” He smiled. “Let’s crack it open and find out.” Standing up, he grabbed two cups, and turned the cask, looking for the corks. “Check for a spout somewhere…” She quickly went through the drawers and found one, handing it over. Varok put the cask on its side, popping the cork out and inserting the spout, wedging it in tightly before standing it on end again. He loosened the vent cork and held a cup under the spout, turning the little valve. A long stream of deep amber colored, aromatic liquid poured out. He closed the valve and handed Gylledra the cup with its sample sized amount of drink. She inhaled its scent, giving a nod.

“It smells sweet and smooth.” She took a sip and nodded again then suddenly coughed. “Oh…but it has a kick right at the end…not piss water.” Varok chuckled and filled his, putting back probably half the cup at once. She stared at him as he cleared his throat. It was stronger than _he_ expected too, she noted, amused.

“Not bad, no way humans brewed it.” He commented. “Has to be dwarves.” He took her cup and filled it, before thrusting it back in her hands.

“I thought dwarves brewed beer.”

“Dwarves will brew anything.”

 

The dwarven liquor went down easily, _too_ easily really, but with the potent beverage, stories got funnier, they got louder, and certainly they felt much less bored. Gylledra suspected that she was feeling the effects far more than her drinking companion, but she was much smaller than he was, and drank rarely.

“I wonder what everyone else is doing to keep busy.” She slurred, tipping back in her chair almost too far and she jerked forward again. Varok snorted.

“I could hazard a guess.”

“I guess a surge in orc population can be expected then in a few months?” Gylledra smirked. “Ships full of fucking orcs….literally!” Varok was mid-sip and inhaled, which resulted in much coughing and thumping his fist on his chest. “Nas must be having a grand time.”

“Where _is_ she, anyway?” He asked when he could breathe again.

“If your speculation is correct, then she is probably somewhere in the lower decks, flat on her back with her ankles around someone’s ears.” Gylledra shrugged.

“That explains her popularity.” He snorted. “Though I’d have expected her to run into some issues with the other women by now.”

“Nah.” Gylledra gave a small dismissive wave. “Nas’s lovers span men, women, and all…she will give and take pleasure from any who will have her.” She explained. “I find myself envying her freedom.” It was a thought that she had never voiced or given credence to before and it surprised her as the words fell from her mouth.

“She is a… _dashing_ sort, I can see why she draws attention.”

“Do you _fancy_ her as well?” Gylledra frowned and narrowed her eyes at Varok, which likely looked a lot like slightly cross-eyed blinking with how numb her face felt. But there was a pang of something…jealousy? prodding at her.

“No.” He shook his head. “The horns are off-putting, reminds me too much of demons.” He let out a long breath. “Is she?”

“What?”

“A demon.” He looked mildly concerned and Gylledra almost laughed.

“Think about that for a moment.” She grinned. He did and then nodded.

“No, I suppose she wouldn’t be in your company if she were.” The drink obviously _was_ taking effect on him. “Why the…ah?” He mimed horns on either side of his head with his index fingers and she dissolved into giggles.

“It’s not for me to say. She is unique.” She replied, trying to get a grip, but poured herself another cup, taking a long draught from it before getting carefully to her feet. She wobbled a little. “I-I’ve never had a lover.” The part of her brain that would stop her from saying such things seemed to have vanished and very faraway she had the thought that she should probably stop talking.

“Hmph.” Varok made a noncommittal noise, eyeing her almost warily.

“Do you?”

“Do I what?” His wariness increased.

“Have lovers.” The faraway thought was shouting at Gylledra now to stop, but it was disregarded. Varok was staring at her though, his eyes flicking briefly to the door as though he was thinking to escape perhaps. She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Nas told me I should take one.” She continued. “An orc.”

“Seems she has a high opinion then, of orcs.” He replied.

“She thinks that I…should…that it should be you.” She came a little closer.

“That _what_ should be me?”

“My lover.” She shrugged and nearly toppled over, but Varok caught her by the waist, watching her eyes. She gripped his arms, her heart beating faster, her mind feeling fuzzy.

“I am an old orc, Gylledra.” His voice rumbled low.

“I am an old _elf_ , Varok.” She retorted, looking down at him.

“I have seen and done so many terrible things…”

“More terrible things than I have seen and done in eleven and a half thousand years?” She asked in a whisper.

“Of course not…though I do wonder how after so much and for so long…you are able still to smile and be light of heart…”

“Can you imagine the monster I would be, Varok, if I could see no light in the perpetual darkness I live in?” Her chest rose and fell as she searched his eyes.

“You are stronger than I.”

“Do you see no light?” She asked him and he shook his head.

“I see a light, but…”

“Was I right? That day…when I said I was abhorrent to look upon? I admit I have no real knowledge of what is acceptable visually for anyone…”

“You were not right.” He finally said, his ears darkening.

“S-so I am not abhorrent?” Her eyes grew wide.

“I wouldn’t be a suitable lover for you.”

“Why not? Can you no longer perform?” She looked down at his groin questioningly.

“What? Of course I…” He looked briefly horrified at the mere suggestion and Gylledra gasped as Varok surged to his feet, lifting then depositing her on the table. She had wondered if such a challenge would goad him into action. His arms were still around her and he leaned down to inhale her scent and she felt his breath on her neck. Excitement rushed through Gylledra, she could almost hear her own heartbeat in her ears. Varok pulled back slightly, his lips brushing hers very lightly, but he paused.

“What is it?” She asked.

“I should not…” He murmured, but with an intoxication fueled burst of bravery, she moved forward. Pressing her lips firmly to his. Varok’s response was immediate as she was kissed within an inch of her life it felt. His tongue thrust against hers as every fiber of her being felt suddenly on fire, then he leaned her back, standing between her knees, which he gently pushed farther apart. The table was hard under her back as he pressed against her, but she didn’t care. But he stopped again, his eyes closed, and forehead pressed to hers. “I cannot.” He whispered. She stared up at him as he pushed himself upward. “Do not think that I do not wish to…” Gylledra glanced down between them and she could see that he indeed wished to. “You have had too much to drink, Gylledra, and so have I. It would do neither of us good to wake with regrets…”

“You would regret it?” She breathed, the thought striking her as painfully as it had all those years ago when someone had said nearly the same thing to her.

“No. Not at all…but you might.” He replied, standing upright and pulling her into a sitting position. She gaped at him, realizing that he wasn’t rejecting her…he was being…decent. In that moment then it struck her also that there was a great deal more to her admiration of him than a mere physical desire. “I am sorry…”

“No, don’t be…I understand.” She nodded and gave a small smile, but looked down. But what of him? She’d lived long enough to know about males and their physical desires and the frequent detachment between that and what they might actually feel. She decided then also that perhaps she ought not to drink so much again.

 

* * *

 

 

Distantly, in what seemed like a very faraway place, there were loud noises, and Gylledra, still in the ignorant bliss of a drink-induced mostly-unconscious state wanted very much to hunker down and go back to sleep. But there was a powerful lurch and her eyes fluttered open. The lanterns were swaying, casting strange shadows about the room. The large, firm thing she was tucked snugly beside inhaled then exhaled a deep breath and her eyes widened. A sudden crash of thunder made her jump and there was the lurch again…the ship being tossed around in the water. A storm…rain and waves hammered the windows, the furniture not nailed down was strewn about the cabin.

“Varok…wake up.” She shook the enormous, slumbering orc who responded by grabbing her by the backside and pulling her tightly against him, murmuring incoherently.

“…you’ve got…good heft…”

“Good _heft_?!” She blinked, still fairly intoxicated. She tried freeing herself from his grasp and there was a loud crash as Nasorya burst through the main cabin door mid-pitch of the ship and was thrown to the floor. She blinked, shaking it off and looked through the bedroom doorway, her eyes growing very wide at Gylledra struggling like a rabbit in a bear trap to get out of Varok’s vicelike grip. She wouldn’t use magic on him, she’d found that generally, people didn’t like that.

“Storm! It’s a bad one!” She cried, scrambling to her feet.

“You don’t say?!” Gylledra snapped. “Varok! Damn it…WAKE UP!” She had enough mobility to reach up and slap him hard in the face.

“WHAT?” He snarled and sprang into a seated position, looking wildly around. Free, Gylledra leapt from the bed and immediately landed face first on the floor, where despite the urgency of the situation, she felt would be a very good place to remain.

“Oh for the love of fuck…” She groaned as Nasorya yanked her to her feet.

“I’m in the bed…?” Varok asked and rubbed his face with one hand as he got up.

“Yes! Because that is the important concern right now!” Nasorya barked impatiently, but then halted. “Wait, why _are_ you in her bed?”

“ _NAS!_ ” Gylledra made a frustrated sound

“ _Really_ Gyllie? Completely smashed and _still_ fully clothed?”

“Shut up, Nas.” Her stomach seemed to keep doing barrel rolls. Appropriate, she thought, glancing across the room at the tapped barrel rolled by, thumping rhythmically every time the spout hit the floor.

“I always knew I’d catch you in the sack with someone, though it’s rather disappointing in this case. It really was prime opportunity for you to…” The ship lurched, interrupting Nasorya’s tirade. Gylledra was on her hands and knees again, conveniently as a bucket rolled by, most likely placed in the room by the drunker Gylledra who had somehow had forethought, or perhaps Varok. She grabbed it, pushing her unbound hair back with enough time to wonder why it was unbound, and then retched into the bucket, silently swearing off drinking ever again.

Varok, appearing in full possession of all his faculties and suffering from none of the ill effects plaguing Gylledra, was strapping on his armor in a hurry, and with surprisingly good balance. Gylledra dug deep, mind over matter, she didn’t have time to feel sick and she shoved it away. With a swirl of bright, white blue arcane, she wore her armor, and it shone bright in the flashes of lightning.

“I will see what I can do, hopefully the other ships haven’t been blown too far from us.” She told them, heading for the door.

“You sobered rather abruptly.” Varok narrowed his eyes at her.

“Are _you_ sober?” She shot back.

“Not altogether.” He muttered.

“Well, there you have it.” With that, Gylledra headed out the door.

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

Saurfang followed Gylledra out the cabin door, indeed his head was pounding and his stomach roiling, but through sheer willpower he ignored it. As he stepped onto the main deck he was slammed in the face with wind and rain, squinting to see the state of things. Most everyone was below deck, but there was a handful of orcs manning the rigging and the wheel. The ship had taken some damage, though.

Gylledra made her way to the back of the ship hopping over debris and dodging frantic orcs with a catlike grace she should _not_ have been able to achieve in her present state. Lightning flashed as she stood at the back rail, hair whipping in the wind. Even from where Saurfang was, he could see the horror on her face and she darted toward him again.

“It’s the maelstrom!” She shouted, the note of panic in her voice sent a chill through him.

“What?” He didn’t know what she meant and she grabbed the front of his armor, pulling him downward, her mouth close to his ear so he’d hear her.

“The maelstrom, it’s a swirling vortex of _death_ for the most part that we do _not_ want to get sucked into. If we survive this, I will tell you all about it.” She let go, climbing back up to the highest deck and as he followed, reaching that level, she put her arms out, a shockwave of arcane power emanated from her and with a shudder, the ship grew still. He found he could only move with great difficulty, as though his feet were impossibly heavy. Glancing back, he saw that it was the same for the rest of the orcs on the deck who appeared torn between new panic at being unable to move, and relief that the likelihood of being washed overboard was now greatly reduced.

Gylledra’s eyes were glowing bright, much brighter than their usual nighttime luminescence and as the lightning struck around them, Saurfang saw it, the impossibly huge swirling whirlpool. In the distance and around them he could see other ships, curiously still as the sea churned. The sea, the clouds, maybe even the world itself turned around the horrifying vortex.

The filigree patterns on Gylledra’s armor flashed as shapes and sigils circled her hands. Ribbons of arcane appeared, stretching out and wrapping around the ship itself and from where he stood, he saw the same thing happening to at least four other ships. The wood of the ship creaked as it rose from the raging sea. A ragged cry tore from her throat as she raised them and pulled the ships back from the edge of the maelstrom.

Saurfang, despite knowing there was nothing he could do to assist her, tugged at his feet, frustrated, but she held everyone in place. Gylledra looked from side to side, her arms still out, but she was breathing heavily. Even for a powerful mage, such a feat did not come easy.

He called to her, but his voice was lost in the sound of the storm. She changed suddenly, her armor began to turn black, starting in one spot and blooming outward like a blood stain as she invoked the Void. Tendrils of the shadow swirled around her until her eyes had turned black. The arcane ribbons holding the ships aloft were then wrapped in a helix of void, stabilizing the power further. She dropped her arms, but the magic stayed in place, she did not need gestures to maintain her power.

Gylledra planted her feet and reached downward with her sharp gauntlet-clad hands, drawing them upward, as though pulling something from somewhere. She was speaking a language Saurfang and likely no one in the world at that time had ever heard. It was a vicious, demanding sound…he realized then that she was giving commands.

“Ifis gaz iilth ma, Etzanel!” She cried again. She repeated the gesture again and this time there was a purple glow that seemed to light the entire sea around them, but even through the violent water, Saurfang could see a shadow…something huge, something so big it should not have been moving the way it was.

The orcs had never seen this kind of power…they had seen necromancy and the infectious, destructive force of the Fel, but nothing like this. Her magic was not costing them or anything else their lives, there was no blood price for this power, none but whatever Gylledra had paid already.

Something almost the size of a mountain broke the surface of the water, rising up, sending a ripple that doused all the ships with seawater. The being was made of black, blue, and purple shadow; lightning struck and branched within it. There were bright, glowing eyes, but no other facial features to speak of. It didn’t belong in Azeroth, and it didn’t appear happy to have been dragged out of whatever void cave it lived in, gauging by the vicious, piercing roar it gave in Gylledra’s direction.

“Thyzak y’za skuq!” Over the roar of the sea, her voice and ongoing commands carried more than what was natural, and the void creature raised one pair of arms, and then another. Reaching out with all arms, it plucked up one ship and then the next, moving through the sea, unaffected by the storm and setting the ships far out away from the maelstrom’s pull as though they were mere toys. There had been more ships than Saurfang had been able to see and once all but theirs were moved to relative safety, Gylledra reached one hand high above her head and the being mirrored her movement. The storm clouds that swirled with the vortex drew in toward the creature’s hand, the darkest of the clouds gathering in its grip. Slowly, her arm lowered, and so too did the creature’s, the very storm itself following the colossal hand, which deposited them into the maelstrom.

At once, the sea calmed significantly, daylight visible through the harmless overcast clouds that remained. Even the wind had calmed to a safer speed. The creature’s last act was to grab Saurfang’s ship and set it out with the others. Both shadow and arcane dissipated and Gylledra put her arms down, and as she did, the void being dissolved, blowing away like smoke in a breeze, banished back to wherever it had come from.

Cheering could be heard across the water from all the ships but Gylledra collapsed. Saurfang went at once to her side, followed by others and Nasorya who came hurtling out of the door that led below deck. Gylledra’s black eyes stared upward as though dead. He checked that she was still breathing and the armor faded away into nothing when he touched her. Her markings were still dark too and he found he was at a loss. None there wielded enough power to bring her out; Thrall was a powerful shaman, but he was on another ship, which did them no good.

“Gylledra.” Saurfang called. He took her hand, but there was no response.

“Gyllie!” Nasorya took her by the shoulders, shaking her almost violently.

“What’s happened?” He demanded.

“I don’t know, she’s never done this…Gylledra!” Nasorya’s panic was alarming.

“Can you help her?”

“I am no mage or healer!” She ran her hands back through her hair, wracking her brain for some kind of answer. Saurfang would have taken any suggestion at that point.

Not knowing why, but feeling strangely compelled somehow, he cradled Gylledra’s head in his hands and closed his eyes. He was immediately bombarded with whispers of the vilest most horrifying things he had ever heard, but squeezing his eyes shut tighter, he ignored them, just as he ignored the dark, horrifying things that haunted him from his own mind. He said her name and the voices fled, replaced with image after image of battlefields, the bodies of those she couldn’t save, destroyed worlds, the overwhelming grief and sense of failure she lived with every day, mourning for those none could have helped.

The images changed abruptly to ones he recognized, Draenor…Gorgrond, the battles he fought, then a cup full of glowing green demon blood. His own horrors flashed through his mind and he was powerless to stop them but when he felt the nearly crippling grip of remorse and sadness, it was not just his own, but hers too. He knew then that they shared this particular darkness and suffered in solidarity, which somehow made it a little more bearable. _Varok_ …her voice whispered from somewhere inside and gasping, he opened his eyes. Gylledra had returned to her normal visage, eyes slowly opening, looking up at him. Nasorya was sitting back on her heels staring at Saurfang, stunned, something he imagined she very seldom was. Gylledra murmured in Shalassian, but he only understood maybe every third word and he frowned, turning to Nasorya.

“What?”

“Etzanel tried to pull her back into the Void.” She translated. Gylledra winced then.

“Etzanel?” He frowned. “That _thing_?” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the maelstrom.

“That is the last time I drink with an orc.” With that, Gylledra drifted back into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

 

Raucous celebrating spanned all the ships as Saurfang carried Gylledra, unconscious, back down to her bed. Nasorya rushed around getting water and cloths, fussing and fretting.

“I can’t tell if she’s passed out from all the _drinking_ the two of you did or if the lift it took for her to save the asses of countless orcs has done something to her.” She complained. It was a serious side to her that so far none of them had witnessed before. “I like the orcs, I really do, but a million of you are not worth to me what she is.”

“She saved us with no thought for herself.” He mused.

“Of course she did.” Nasorya snapped, looking up at him. “That is what Gylledra does, she saves whoever she can however she can. She saved me, she saved you…yet all she thinks of are the ones she couldn’t.” She slumped a little. “She’s given her whole life to try and save everyone…but no one has tried to save her.” Nasorya’s head snapped up, staring at Saurfang as she arrived at some conclusion. “Until today.”

“What?” He frowned.

“You did something, she was falling into shadow and you did something that stopped it.” She stood up, her gaze intensifying as she seemed to inspect him.

“If I did, I do not know what it was.” He squirmed internally under her scrutiny.

“She likes you, though I don’t know why.”

“How kind of you to say so.” Saurfang gave her a level look. What better to round out a chaotic situation than being insulted by a…whatever she was?

“I like most anyone with a pulse, she never likes anyone.” Nasorya pursed her lips and glanced at his somewhat confounded expression. “I don’t mean for bedfellows, I mean in general…though I suppose that’s true too when it comes to _that_.” He shifted, wanting desperately for some other catastrophe to require his attention. “If I keep telling her secrets she will murder me upon waking, no doubt. So…” She dabbed a cool cloth on Gylledra’s brow. “I love her above all else, she is as much a sister to me as if she had been born of the same mother. Despite me following her around for thousands of years, she’s been quite alone.” Saurfang kept quiet, absorbing all the information that fell unchecked from Nasorya’s mouth. “I suppose all there is to do now, is wait for her to wake up.”


	4. Chapter 4

Everything felt…wrong. Gylledra was in bed, daylight shone through the window and there were the murmuring voices of Nasorya, Varok, and one she thought might be Pava, coming from the main room. Weakness weighed heavily on every part of her and there were only bits and pieces of memory from the storm. Though, mixed in were memories of a very different nature. She pushed herself up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and sat for a moment, gathering the gumption to go further.

The weakness was disconcerting, but finally, Gylledra got to her feet. She was wearing only a linen shirt that hung mid-thigh as she slowly moved toward the doorway, which she gripped, taking another moment to breathe. Nasorya and Pava seemed to be intently bickering over what appeared to be a map and Varok didn’t appear very impressed. Seeing movement out the corner of his eye, he did a doubletake.

“Gylledra…” He moved quickly as she stepped into the room, her knees nearly buckling. He caught her, and she leaned against him, shirt riding up a bit. Pava and Nasorya whirled around, eyes wide.

“You’re not wearing pants.” Nasorya declared.

“Everyone here has seen me naked.” Gylledra rolled her eyes.

“Um, I have not, and do not wish to.” Pava shook her head then frowned. “Wait, what?”

“Then I apologize in advance, pants seem beyond my current capabilities.” She replied. “What happened? Why can’t I…do anything?” Varok helped her into a chair and she stiffened a little.

“What is it?” He frowned.

“The chair is cold, and, as Nasorya helpfully pointed out, I’m not wearing pants.” She arched a brow at him and he turned away before Pava could catch the smirk.

“You summoned Etzanel.” Nasorya told her simply.

“I did _what?_ ”

“He wasn’t pleased about it, you were invoking, he did whatever you commanded but…I imagine whatever he did in retaliation…”

“Damn it.” Gylledra sighed and rubbed her face, already feeling exhausted.

“What does that mean, though?” Varok asked. She shook her head and looked up at him.

“That I will likely die.” There was no jest in her voice and he stared for a moment.

“Is there nothing that can be done?”

“Not on a ship in the middle of the sea.” She couldn’t fathom why she’d have thought it a good idea to summon Etzanel. He was a vicious Void Revenant who loathed her with an incredible intensity. Obviously drinking was a terrible idea, one which seemed likely to cost Gylledra her life.

“Do you remember nothing of that night?” It was obvious, to her at least, what Varok was asking and she met his eyes again.

“I remember everything but the storm, which there are only fragments and flashes of it.” She told him. He nodded. Yes, what happened between them was still vivid in her memory. “Whatever the outcome, I would not change that night.”

“If the outcome is your death, then I _would_ change it.” He growled.

“Were I even well-versed in chronomancy I still wouldn’t be able to go back considering that I cannot even feel the arcane, let alone wield it, presently.” She grumbled in return. “That bastard will no doubt get what he wants.” Her face twisted in a grimace of pain and anger as she tried to come to terms with what was happening.

“Are you so eager for death?” The old orc grew angry and she gave him a level look.

“I am much older than most things on this world, Varok. I find it difficult to believe that you have never been ready to embrace death.” She did feel somewhat bitter that only the beginning of what might have been an adventure as well as a war would be all she would experience. “If I cannot get well, then I gave my life ensuring all of yours, there is no dishonor in that.” He made a frustrated noise and stormed off, slamming the door behind him. Gylledra wilted upon his departure, she had not wanted him to see just how weak she was.

“You cannot be serious that you might die.” Nasorya said at once, the anxiousness ringing clear in her voice.

“It is not something I would say if I did not mean it.”

“Whether you live or die, you have earned a place of honor with the orcs.” Pava said quietly, her fist over her heart. “I am glad I was wrong about you. We would be dead otherwise.”

“Hopefully it isn’t all for naught when the Legion comes.” Gylledra was angry with herself for having chosen to solve the problem so foolishly. She had likely sealed her own fate and it figured, she thought, as soon as she had met someone she might feel fondly toward, she was to die not knowing what it meant to truly experience that. “How long have I been unconscious?”

“Four days.” Nasorya replied, her voice quiet. She seemed altogether diminished and Pava, seeing what was happening, quietly slipped out, leaving them alone. “What am I supposed to do without you? What am I supposed to do right now? Watch you waste away?”

“There seems little else to do. I cannot manipulate the arcane _or_ the void, everything feels empty. The absence of my…abilities _physically_ pains me. And I have no one to blame but myself…”

“Perhaps Saurfang. What happened that night? Did he _ply_ you with drink? Refilling your cup again and again?” Nasorya snapped. “And then what? Take advantage of you when you were inebriated?!”

“That is _not_ what happened, Nasorya.” In her current state, Gylledra still had enough strength to aggressively roll her eyes at her friend. “I refilled my _own_ cup, and though the offer was there, Varok would not slake his lust with someone who was drunk.”

“Really?” The revelation seemed to shock Nasorya. “I wasn’t sure he was even capable of lust, to be honest…”

“Not as _you_ know it.” Gylledra scoffed. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Well, whether he was to blame or not, that cranky orc blames himself, he thinks your blood is on his hands…”

“It isn’t.” She sighed again. “I saw you looking at a map, how far out do they think we are from the shore of Kalimdor?”

“We have no real way of telling. About half the ships are missing, not all of them came as close to the Maelstrom as we all did. No one knows who is yet alive, food and water is diminishing…hopefully we get somewhere soon…” Though Nasorya was trying not to look hopeless, her efforts were failing.

“Then I saved them all to die of starvation instead.”

 

* * *

 

It was dark, and though Gylledra had been sleeping, Varok’s familiar scent brought her to consciousness again. She kept her eyes closed though, listening to the silence, the quiet sound of his breathing. The pitching of the ship was stronger than before and she suspected they were coming to another storm, if it was like before, she could not save them again.

“I can hear you wallowing in self-blame from here, Varok.” She said at last, looking over at him. He was sitting in a chair beside the bed and said nothing, watching her. “Why are you here?” She asked quietly. “You’re a venerated orc warrior, a leader…hardened by wars some of these orcs have only ever heard stories about.” Varok looked down for a moment. “I am no one, a stranger you found in the woods a few weeks ago. I cannot see why you should hold any concern for me.”

“You risked your life for my people.” He replied.

“That does not obligate you to sit here and watch me die as you needlessly place the responsibility for that upon your own shoulders. You can be much more useful elsewhere. _They_ need you, especially if Thrall doesn’t make it to Kalimdor.” Gylledra told him, but she let out a long breath, shaking her head. “What short time we have known each other, I still would not have you remember me in my weakness. I would rather have pitched overboard and drown in the sea than to be seen like this.”

“Are you sure there isn’t the spirit of an orc in there?” He asked, almost smiling.

“Oh, I’m _all_ elf.” She smirked then. “Just stubborn and too proud, is all.”

“I hope that perhaps you are too stubborn to die, that maybe we do find Thrall and that there is something he can do, he is a shaman.” His amber eyes met hers again. “I think we owe it to you to try.”

“I don’t _want_ to be owed anything.” She huffed and looked away from him.

“I don’t _want_ you to die.” Varok snarled in reply and she turned toward him, surprised. “Don’t ask me why.” He barked and got to his feet, pacing the small cabin.

“I always envisioned dying in battle.” Gylledra murmured. “But I never saw myself traveling across the sea with orcs, so I suppose anything is possible.”

“I don’t think you will die.”

“Why? Because the great Varok Saurfang says so?” She scoffed and he turned toward her leaning down very close, his hands on either side of her on the bed. She inhaled sharply.

“Yes.” His voice rumbled and on impulse she reached up, taking his face between her hands, trying to commit everything about him to memory. When it got bad, as she knew it would, she wanted a memory to focus on, and she was choosing the memory of him.

“I don’t want to die.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Not now, not when I…” She halted. He put his arms around her as hers went around his neck, her face buried against his shoulder. “What is this? What is happening?” Her questions were quiet and Varok said nothing as he sat on the edge of the bed, simply holding her for what seemed like a long time.

“I will do whatever I must to keep you alive.” He whispered finally.

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

Gylledra’s name was whispered and spoken often amongst the orcs on the ship. Where there had once been suspicion and even outright dislike for the strange elf, there was now respect and honor. She had saved their lives at probably the cost of her own. None of them, not even Saurfang had expected she would put all of them before herself.

More had taken notice of the fact that even as Saurfang’s captive, he had not hated being in Gylledra’s company. He knew there were whispers and was careful not to mention her, lest they come to conclusions that were likely correct. However different they were, beneath the surface, beyond their different worlds and different people…they were the same, he thought. When they talked of war and tragedy, what each spoke mirrored what was in the heart and mind of the other.

Saurfang had never been deeply spiritual by any means, though he always revered the shamans amongst the orcs. He had first laid eyes on Gylledra as she bathed in the mountain creek, the water rippling gently around her as though it accepted her. And now, they traversed the sea together, it had allowed her to save the ships. He knew water to be a powerful force, though once upon a time he would have fancied himself to be like fire, and perhaps he once was, but he was older now and had learned much since his intemperate youth.

Water had brought them together for reasons unknown to him and though she would undoubtedly be a thorn in his side and a pain in his ass…she too brought to him a sense of calm and belonging. He knew his crimes, the things he believed he deserved to suffer for, and she too was haunted by mistakes she had made, and it seemed between them was unexpected solidarity.

Silently, as he stood on deck, the ship lurching and pitching in the increasingly violent sea, he begged the Spirit of Water to let her live, to let him get her well again, because he was sure there was something important that they were both meant to be part of.

 

The second storm had thrown many of the ships against the rocks of the unforgiving shore of Kalimdor. They shattered and the orcs swam for their lives. Saurfang’s ship ran aground and began quickly to break apart. In darkness, the water roared with the thunder and the wind as they fought to get to shore. Gylledra had clung weakly to a piece of wood until he managed to tie her to it in a fashion, keeping her head above water while Nasorya dragged the apparatus toward shore.

There was debris all up and down the beach and Saurfang sat in wet sand as dawn broke, the storm dissipating as the sun rose over the horizon. Behind him, he had caught a glimpse of a rough, craggy land that would not make their travels any easier. He didn’t know what had happened to all the other ships, there were parts of perhaps two others besides theirs that he could see any fragments of. Undoubtedly, they were spread along the endless miles of coastline.

Arguing and commotion behind him pulled Saurfang’s attention from the sunrise. His body was tired from the difficult swim, but he turned and saw Gylledra unsteadily getting to her feet and shove Nasorya back as she declared her independence. They were both sopping wet and bedraggled, covered in sand and seaweed. She was still weak, but a furious flame burned in her eyes. He hoped that stubborn determination gave her enough strength to carry on until they could find someone or something that would make her well again.

There was no doubt, of course, that if she caught him behaving at all protective of her, he could expect to be verbally eviscerated, just as Nasorya presently was. At her full strength, the last person who required protecting was Gylledra which Saurfang guessed had been the case for the thousands of years of her life. In her current state she was understandably angry and frustrated. Finally, though, she chose to sit down and simply rest as everyone else was doing.

 

It took days before the orcs regrouped and were joined by Thrall, who also had with him a large number of trolls. Many orcs were reunited with those they weren’t certain they would see again, some learned of the deaths of others. Thrall, Eitrigg, and Broxigar, Saurfang’s older brother finally met up with him. They surveyed the damage, counted who was still alive and took stock of what few supplies they had.

“I keep hearing versions of the same tale, Saurfang, what happened at the Maelstrom?” Thrall asked. “The ships were on the edge, set to nearly be cast into it and something…moved your ships? Many are speculating the elf was involved, others are singing her praises, it is all very…unclear.”

“Yes…the storm nearly blew us into that gaping maw in the sea…it _was_ Gylledra that saved all the ships she could see from being destroyed. She summoned a being…but it hurt her very badly…” Saurfang explained, somewhat vaguely. He left out some details, such as how she did it whilst still incredibly drunk.

“Does she live?” Thrall glanced around, as though expecting her to appear at their side.

“She lives, but the creature, it harmed her somehow, she is very weak and likely to die if we cannot give or find aid. I promised her I would do what I could to keep her alive…” Saurfang explained.

“Has your heart softened for an elf, brother?” Broxigar laughed, but his brother was not amused.

“She singlehandedly saved the lives of half the orcs here at least, we owe her our lives.” He growled in reply.

“I will see what I can do, but we must move inland soon.” Thrall moved past them, heading toward where Gylledra and Nasorya were sitting.

 

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

The beach full of orcs and trolls was chaotic, and somehow all the commotion seemed to feel as though it was draining Gylledra’s strength even more. She felt less strong even than she had when they first dragged themselves onto the storm-ravaged shore and knew that whatever was wrong, it was getting worse.

“Here comes Saurfang and Thrall.” Nasorya warned. Gylledra pushed herself into a sitting position and looked up, freezing immediately as her eyes fell on one of the other two orcs walking with them.

“ _By all that anyone has ever held holy or dear…Nas…that orc is the one I knew in Suramar!_ ” She hissed in Shalassian, knowing no one nearby would catch what she had said.

“WHAT?”

“ _Shh! That is him, that is Broxigar…the first orc I ever met…but that was ten thousand years ago!_ ” Gylledra went on.

“ _Well shut up, I imagine you’re going to have to pretend as though that never happened, all things considered, since I’m guessing he has not yet gone to Suramar._ ” Nasorya replied.

“Gylledra.” Thrall approached as the others followed him a few steps back. “I’ve been told what happened at the Maelstrom, and you must know how appreciative everyone is for what you have done.”

“I could not stand idly by…”

“She was _tanked_ when she did it, too.” Nasorya interjected. Gylledra saw Varok almost wince but the comment went ignored.

“And now you are unwell?”

“Unfortunately. I cannot seem to use any sort of power and I grow weaker every day.” She admitted. “Is…is there anything you can do?” He crouched down in front of her, reaching out and putting his hands on her shoulders. She could feel the power of the elements stir in him and it made her long to feel the comfort of her own magic once again.

“Your wounds are not physical.” Thrall told her quietly. “And they are severe…I can bolster you somewhat, perhaps give you a few days of physical strength, but it will not heal the wounds.”

“I accept whatever help you can give.” She told him. At that, he took her face between his large hands, his eyes still closed, and she could feel the strength of the elements pour into her. After a moment, he released her and stood up.

“How do you feel?” He asked. Gylledra rose, feeling firm on her feet for the first time since before she was drinking that fateful night.

“Well enough, thank you. I can at least stand and walk I think.” She smiled and looked over at Varok who still appeared concerned.

“How long will it last?” He asked.

“A few days, perhaps.” She told him.

“I think the elf’s heart is soft for you as well, brother.” Broxigar nudged Varok with his elbow and Gylledra did her best not to react. _Brother??_ Nasorya let out a shocked, Shalassian expletive, having heard him as well.

“Gylledra this is my older brother, Broxigar.” Varok told her.

“Good to meet you, Broxigar.” She replied. The orc regarded her for a long moment, looking from her to his brother and back again. He gave a grunt and nudged Varok again.

“Alright then.” He nodded. “I see it.” With that, he turned and walked away.

“So, you’re the brains in the family, then?” Gylledra said very quietly, leaning toward Varok so only he could hear. He gave a snort of laughter, which drew the surprised attention of Thrall and Eitrigg. Varok wasn’t one to spend too much time laughing, at least she hadn’t seen him behaving in a particularly jovial manner amongst his own in her presence, but with her, he had seemed pleasant enough when it was just the two of them.

 

No sooner had the orcs and trolls moved inland when battle erupted. Gylledra was near the back, having been deemed unfit to fight. Though it enraged her, she was in no position to argue with Varok and the sea of orcs that had decided to “keep her safe”. They’d determined she had risked sacrificing herself for them, they were going to keep her alive.

Finally seeing what the orcs were fighting, Gylledra stared in horror at the hideous half horse half…humanoid creatures. She had seen Cenarius once when the Legion invaded the first time, she knew of the dryads, who were his daughters…but these things looked like twisted malformations of those revered beings.

“What _are_ those?” She breathed.

“Ugly.” Nasorya replied, disgust on her face as well. They tried to make their way forward to see what was happening but were both suddenly plucked from the foray and tucked beneath the arms of the orc called Eitrigg.

“What are you _doing_?!” Gylledra shrieked, struggling futilely against his immovable grip.

“Following orders.” He grumbled, seeming as pleased about it as she was. Nasorya began laughing then, saying something unintelligible through the giggling.

“Stop laughing! Get me out of this!” Gylledra demanded.

“Absolutely not!” Nasorya cackled, still finding the predicament hilarious. “I will never forget this, oh…oh your _face_ , Gyll!”

“I hope _both_ of you realize that I will never forget this _either!_ ” She hissed in reply. Fury thrummed through her like war drums as she envisioned pulling off the orc’s arm and beating him about the head with it.

Eitrigg dropped them none too gently once far from the fighting, his scowl daring Gylledra to defy him. She got to her feet intending to do just that when he planted his feet, pointing at her, his index finger nearly in her face.

“No!” He snarled. She blinked at him, taken aback, and he went on. “Saurfang made a promise, did he not?” She spluttered, words failing her. “He _did_ , because he _told_ me.” The old warrior spat. “He promised to keep you alive, that is no small thing, elf, a thing I think you do not understand. You would make it that much more _difficult_ for him to uphold his word?” She hadn’t thought of that; naturally, she’d been thinking of her own curiosity, behaving as though she was not at as great a risk as she very much was. “Would you wish for him to believe your blood is on his hands because you did something _stupid_?” Her jaw dropped open as her face burned hot. She stood, stunned and chastised. Finally, he turned and left them there at the back. Nasorya giggled behind her hand, shoulders shaking with it.

“Stop it.” Gylledra snapped, folding her arms.

“He _scolded_ you!” She grinned manically.

“Shut _up_ , Nasorya.”

“When is the last time you were scolded? How many thousands of years has it been?” Nasorya calmed some, but still chuckled and pulled a brooding, frustrated Gylledra to a large stone to sit. In truth, she was feeling tired but was certainly not about to admit that.

 

Finally, the battle seemed to have ended, the shouting and clash of weapons having died down. Gylledra wasn’t stopped as she made her way forward, Nasorya on her heels. She stopped though, seeing Thrall speaking with a towering individual and several others just like him.

“ _Is that an upright cow_?” Nasorya asked.

“ _They are Tauren_ …” Gylledra murmured.

“ _How were they fighting? Are their hands hooves too_?”

“No…Nasorya…” She sighed, shaking her head. Varok appeared, making his way through some shuffling orcs, a gash across his right eye oozing dark, almost black blood. Otherwise he seemed fine, the rest of the blood on him wasn’t his.

“I see you survived.” He commented.

“Likewise.” She gestured to his wound. “Eitrigg did haul us off once, of course, which was not at _all_ humiliating or infuriating.” She narrowed her eyes at him, but he shrugged, unbothered by her ire.

“You’re welcome.” He looked ahead to where Thrall was speaking with the Tauren.

“What the hell were those things you were fighting?” She was more curious than angry, fortunately.

“The Tauren called them centaurs, they have been attacking and causing problems for them for…as long as they can remember.” He explained.

“ _Cen_ taurs?” She repeated, grimacing. Could those vile creatures _actually_ have something to do with Cenarius? Varok was about to reply but there was shouting, and Thrall ordered the orcs to move out, to protect the Tauren and prepare for more fighting. “You’d better go.” She told Varok. “I’ll…keep out of the way.”

“You will?” He arched his bloodied brow at her, not expecting her acquiescence.

“Yes, I will. Go, warrior, do what you do.” Gylledra gave a small smile, and waved toward the front. Varok looked at her for a long moment before he turned and headed away. She watched him, hoping that it wouldn’t be the last time she saw him alive.

 

It had been no wandering pace they marched at to follow the tauren to their camp. Small groups of centaurs attacked before finally their army waging a full battle upon reaching it. The centaurs were defeated for the time being, and night had fallen. The orcs were resting around their fires, tending to wounds, eating, and of course, rehashing the battle.

Varok was at a fire with his brother, Eitrigg, and a number of other Blackrock orcs and Gylledra kept her distance, trying to conserve her strength as she sat beside a smaller fire with Nasorya and Pava, who were, just as all the others, discussing the battle. Silently, Gylledra wove long strands of grass together with no real purpose in mind other than occupying her fidgety hands. She still felt somewhat ashamed from the incident with Eitrigg, he’d been right, she was being stupid and selfish, pushing the limits of the shaky patching-up Thrall had done to at least allow her the strength to walk around.

She looked over to where Varok sat, intent on his conversations. He commanded the attention of everyone around him by simply being present. She’d caught glimpses of him fighting and it was unlike anything she had seen before. The power with which he struck at his enemies was astonishing and while obviously she had resigned herself to the fact that she was drawn to him and enjoyed looking at him and talking with him…she admired him that much more having seen him in action.

Varok’s gaze shifted, his eyes catching hers before she could turn away. He seemed to hold her there somehow, and she wished he was seated beside her instead of so far away. Her initial reaction to him had been to resist and deny that her admiration was growing. It was difficult to admit that in speaking with him, and even being in close quarters in silence, brought her a sense of comfort and warmth she was unfamiliar with.

Gylledra’s head swam then, it was as though she was a vessel, and someone had poured out everything inside her, her strength, her will to go on…everything left her, and she blinked slowly, almost finding the effort to draw breath too much. Varok’s brow furrowed, watching it happen, whatever it was. Shadows appeared around her field of vision and she watched him rise to his feet, then she saw nothing at all.


	5. Chapter 5

Orcs fought with a savage efficiency unlike anything Baine Bloodhoof had ever seen. They decimated the centaur who had been terrorizing the tauren. He’d stood in gratitude with his father Cairne, their chieftain. Now he found himself observing and working to discern what sort of people the orcs were. With them had come trolls as well, refugees from an island homeland that had been sinking into the sea, and it was apparent that all of them had come to Kalimdor from less than ideal circumstances.

There was little left in the Barrens for the tauren, the centaurs had driven away or hunted all the game, the land was dry and unsuited for farming. Green things did not grow as once before, and the land was truly living up to its name. They needed desperately to make their way to Mulgore, somewhere lush where they would flourish again.

As they sat around a fire, Thrall and Cairne shared their views and beliefs and unexpectedly the orcs had many commonalities with the tauren. They both revered the elements and connection to the world, sharing a shamanistic nature eased the way for forming a bond of friendship. Honor, too, was held in highest esteem, and fighting to protect their people, to carve out a life and build a home in this world.

Thrall and his orcs had agreed to travel with the tauren to keep their caravan safe from the other roving bands of centaurs that would seek to catch them vulnerable. In return, his father, Cairne, would tell them how to find the oracle in Stonetalon Peak. They would depart at sunrise and Baine was excited to be leaving the desolate Barrens.

There was a sudden commotion, several orcs had gotten to their feet and there was a high, panicked female voice that didn’t sound orcish at all. Even Thrall turned to look, expecting perhaps something amusing, but he frowned at once upon seeing what was happening.

“What is it, Thrall?” Cairne asked, growing concerned as the orc Warchief rose to his feet.

“The elven woman…something is wrong…” He replied.

“Elven woman?” Baine said in surprise. He didn’t think the night elves had much reason or desire to make their way into the Barrens.

“Yes…many of the orcs owe her their lives, she is gravely ill, but it isn’t physical, she is a mage, a powerful one, but something has wounded her in a way that drains her power and her strength…I was not able myself to mend her.” Thrall explained. “It seems it is worsening…is there anything you know of that could be done to save her?”

“Is one elf so important?” Cairne glanced at Baine as though to shrug.

“She is unwell because of saving several ships full of orcs, we owe her a great debt and out honor and respect.” Thrall was completely serious.

“There may be a place. Baine…see to the elf, see what ails her and perhaps if there are any volunteers, she can be taken to the cave.” Cairne ordered.

“Yes, father.” He replied.

Baine rose to his feet and followed Thrall through the camp to where the elven woman lay unconscious in the dry grass, but she was no night elf and her hysterical companion was no elf at all. Crouched beside the elf, her head in his hand, was the orc who had earlier introduced himself as Varok Saurfang. He was an experienced warrior, as was evident by his age. So far, he had given no indication, subtle or otherwise what he was thinking. He was calm, lacking the raging impulsiveness of younger warriors, but he was no less fearsome, in fact his stillness and calculating eyes perhaps made him that much more imposing. Saurfang was not an orc Baine would ever want to meet in combat, he’d have better luck against three young warriors. On the battlefield, Saurfang cut down enough centaur that they began trying to avoid him, to no avail; in the end, all he stood against met with his axe.

“Saurfang.” Thrall said as they approached. “What is it?”

“It is worse, she will not wake.” Saurfang told him, gently letting her head rest on the ground. He stood and glanced at Baine, who wondered how the care of the elf had fallen to one of the Warchief’s most respected advisors. It was subtle, his concern for her, and Baine doubted that anyone else had noticed. The orcs looked to Saurfang and saw the battle-hardened commander of armies and little else, in truth it was difficult to see more than that, he was self-contained with incredible control, but with his nearly permanent scowl, his brow creased a little differently when he looked at her.

The woman attending Gylledra was unlike anyone Baine had seen before, she had an odd, ashen complexion, bright violet eyes with long hair that was a darker, iridescent hue of purple. Though what he noticed most were the modest black horns on the top of her head. Baine’s questions multiplied.

“What is her name?” Baine asked.

“Gylledra.” Saurfang answered before the nearly-hyperventilating female could. “That is Nasorya.”

“I am Baine Bloodhoof; my father, the chieftain, sent me to help.” He told her.

“What can you do?” Nasorya asked. “The thing she summoned to move the ships…it was shadow…belonging to the void.” She explained. “Such a creature requires unthinkable amounts power to exist _here_ even for a short while…this one in particular south to harm her…”

“Shadow?” Baine’s brow furrowed; did he really want to assist with making a practitioner of darkness stronger again? The havoc she could wreak was unimaginable if she was as powerful as Thrall suggested. The tauren had enough trouble as it was. But…she had nearly sacrificed herself to spare the lives of hundreds of people who weren’t even her own kind. _That_ stood for something and spoke more of her character than the type of magic she practiced. “The place my father mentioned, it might help; it is a sacred place we have used for healing before. Different powers and energies converge there.”

“When can we leave?” Saurfang asked and gazed down at the unconscious elf. “The sooner she is well again, the better.” There was something between them, or at least the orc felt strongly about her in some way, Baine couldn’t say for sure without Gylledra being conscious and functioning.

“We can leave at dawn.” Baine told him. “She is…special to you, is she not?” He somewhat regretted the question as it came out of his mouth, but curiosity had outweighed his tact for a moment. Nasorya looked up, wide eyed, her gaze flicking back and forth between the grizzled orc and Baine.

“We leave at dawn.” Saurfang replied in a growl. Baine thought it was very fortunate that looks were not deadly, but Saurfang’s ears seemed to deepen in color just a bit. With that, he stalked off again and Baine looked back down at Nasorya whose expression was drawn with worry.

“I really hope this place of yours will do the trick, though if it does not, her…her death will be an honorable one. Though I am not sure I can carry on without her.”

 

* * *

 

At dawn, Baine took two of his trusted warriors, Natane and Hoto, then gathered a handful of kodo that could be spared from the caravan. Saurfang had with him a group of twelve or so orcs. A small party carrying virtually no goods would likely go unnoticed on their trek, so Baine hoped. Thrall and the rest of the orcs would be guarding the tauren convoy back to Mulgore, a much more perilous journey that, if Baine was being entirely honest with himself, he’d much rather be on. But orders were orders.

Nasorya got situated on her saddled kodo and Saurfang sat astride his own with Gylledra limply draped across his lap, her head supported in the crook of his elbow. From that location, it would be a day and a half of constant travel before they arrived at the nameless cave-spring in Dustwallow Marsh; at that point there was no telling what might happen or how long it might take, or if it would be where Gylledra died. He hoped the latter would not be the case, it would not do their new friendship well for someone who mattered to them to die.

 

The journey started very quiet, no one spoke. If it was to be so silent the entire time, the journey would take a century, Baine thought. Natane headed up the group, followed by most of the orcs, then Saurfang, the remaining orcs and Nasorya, then Baine and Hoto bringing up the rear. He was a little surprised when Nasorya hung back a little to ride beside him. He had some speculation as to her origin, but would say nothing; she certainly didn’t make his list of questions any shorter.

“They’re cut from the same cloth.” She told him. He didn’t have to ask who.

“Is that so?”

“I have known her a very long time, and though we are as close as sisters, I’ve never heard her laugh ring as it does with him.” She watched wistfully ahead of them, where the subjects of the conversation plodded along.

“Does _he_ actually laugh?” Baine snorted.

“You’d never know it by looking.” She smiled sadly. “Something grew between them in a few weeks that never grew between us in thousands of years.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that she needs to live, so that she can finally live.” Though it seemed cryptic, Nasorya’s answer made a certain amount of sense.

“How did you happen upon the orcs?” Baine decided to take advantage of Nasorya’s willingness to make conversation.

“By accident…they were heading to a port to take ships to come here and we were trying to figure out who would believe us when we brought warning of the Burning Legion coming again.” The nonchalant way she said it did nothing to allay the sudden clench he felt in his gut. Demons, yet another problem they didn’t need.

“I see.”

“Gylledra has been fighting them almost her whole life, and even before that she took none of those years for herself. That’s why nothing would please me more if she finds even the smallest bit of happiness for herself…even if it ends up inexplicably coming from a grumpy old orc.”

 

Baine found that by opening the door to conversation with Nasorya, he had bitten off a good deal more than he could chew. He’d wanted a diversion but he promised himself he’d be more careful about the silent wishes he made in the future. It wasn’t terrible, but she was just…so _much_. He was certain that he heard Saurfang chuckle to himself more than once at him becoming Nasorya’s captive audience.

Her war stories were interesting, though she didn’t look much like a warrior, however her informational tirade on the mating habits of an obscure bird from a destroyed world that somehow flowed seamlessly into the kinds of soup she liked was a bit bewildering.

When they stopped for a short rest, Baine thanked the Earth Mother for the blessed silence that resulted from Nasorya going at once to see to Gylledra. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly but he suddenly looked in the direction of a snapping twig, grateful beyond words that it was only Saurfang approaching. The amusement on the old orc’s face was somewhat unexpected and Baine arched one brow at him in question.

“How is the ride so far?” Saurfang asked.

“You could have warned me.” He replied, giving a half smile.

“I could have.” The glint in Saurfang’s eyes as he chuckled gave away that there was far more to him than the lethality of his swinging axe.

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

They’d stopped only a couple of hours, traveling even through the night and the sun had crested midday when they finally arrived. The area was heavily wooded and didn’t look or feel particularly special or restorative in Saurfang’s opinion. The marsh was unpleasant and dreary. Nasorya was finally quiet as they set up a small camp in the glade near the cave entrance. It wasn’t long before Baine approached, but he wore no armor, no weapons, and no extra adornments.

“In the cave there can be no instruments of war.” He told them. “Not so much as a whittling knife, it is a place without conflict, and must remain pure.”

“What will happen? Is someone staying with her or is she left in there, like baking bread?” Saurfang was agitated, he did not particularly like the thought of leaving Gylledra alone in some unknown situation.

“Someone will need to be with her, yes.” The tauren nodded.

“I will do it…of course.” Nasorya stepped forward. Saurfang nodded in agreement, it did make the most sense and for however long she was down in the cave with Gylledra, they _would_ have their own peace above ground while they waited.

“It is decided, let us not waste any more time, I will carry her down, the passage opens to a large cave which is lit by the water itself. You must both be unclothed, and you will take her into the water for…as long as it will take.” Baine explained to Nasorya.

“I understand.” She quickly removed her few pieces of jewelry and Baine bent, gently lifting Gylledra, who barely seemed alive.

Saurfang followed them to the mouth of the cave where Natane guarded, a spear in her hand. Baine stepped in, but Nasorya halted, a strange expression on her face.

“What is it?” He asked as a strange feeling seemed to slither into his gut.

“I…cannot.”

“Why not? It is simple enough, to save her life!” He didn’t understand how or why Nasorya would suddenly change her mind, he knew very well how important Gylledra was to her.

“No, I cannot enter…it is not a choice, I cannot move myself to step in…I am not…being allowed.” She looked at him, shocked and upset. _Maybe she is a demon_…Saurfang thought to himself, despite knowing it wasn’t possible. This place was supposed to be holy, sacred, for healing…what was she that the earth itself denied her entrance?

“It is not my place to remain with her…” Baine started. Natane set her spear aside.

“Shall I…?” She stepped forward but Saurfang put a hand up.

“No, I will do it, there is no one else here who knows her.” He let out a long breath. “It should not be a stranger.”

“You think you _know_ her?” There was a little acid in Nasorya’s voice.

“Better than the rest of those who are here, wouldn’t you agree?” He gave her a level stare and she looked down, nodding, still beside herself with worry. Saurfang removed his armor until he wore only his dark, heavy leather leggings and vest. He had no idea what to expect, and he wondered too if he would be barred from this pure place because of the taint of demon blood that he still bore. When he stepped across the threshold, nothing held him back and Baine placed Gylledra in his arms.

“We will wait here, for as long as it takes.” The tauren told him solemnly.

 

The passage was narrow, but still wide enough that the walls did not touch Saurfang’s shoulders. It was long and felt as if it went on for much farther than it should have. There were no torches or lamps, but the stone itself had…not light…but energy, perhaps…and he could see the way ahead of him with no trouble.

Finally, it opened into an expansive chamber with walls of warm, brown sandstone, thick stalactites hung from the ceiling, stalagmites reaching upward beneath them. In some places they had joined to make towering pillars of stone…the architecture of nature itself. Unseen springs fed the pool and while there was no visible stream, or exit for the water, it was not at all stagnant. Its water was crystal clear and luminescent, its reflection shimmering on the walls and ceiling.

Saurfang pulled himself from his awe of the cave and knelt, carefully setting Gylledra down on the sand which covered the floor. He mulled Baine’s instructions over in his head. No weapons, no conflict…no clothes…then into the water…and wait. Wait for what? Would she suddenly wake up with all her strength returned as though nothing had happened? What if she lost her memory? She’d be waking up to an old, naked orc…he grimaced at the thought. It would be bad enough even if she _didn’t_ lose her memory.

Making quick work of the task at hand, he undressed the rest of the way before he knelt, silently apologizing to Gylledra for removing her clothes without permission. It was to save her life, not for pleasure. His thoughts halted on the word for just a moment, lingering on the memory of how she had felt, how she had tasted…that night one the ship… _NO._ He frowned and redirected his thoughts to the magnificence of the cave. While the forest had been unremarkable, the cave even _felt_ different, powerful.

With her clothes all set neatly aside, Saurfang unbound Gylledra’s hair, the strands cool and soft in his hand as the braid unraveled. He picked her up again, turning to the glimmering water; it was like a strange, cavern beach, he felt the sand between his toes as he stepped in. The water temperature felt perfect, he’d expected it to be cold so far down.

Saurfang waded in to just above his waist, keeping Gylledra’s face above the surface as her hair fanned out in the water. She looked as though merely asleep, but her breath was concerningly shallow. Then, it was as if something was gently pulling her from his arms and while his first instinct was to resist, to keep her in his grasp, he knew that it was whatever force existed in this place taking effect. Gylledra drifted a few feet away, mysteriously buoyant and he thought the light grew a little brighter.

Unsure of what he should do, he turned to get out of the water but found he could not…his will to continue the movement vanished and he was unable to move forward. There was no force, nothing touching him, he simply could not make himself move. He wondered if this was what happened to Nasorya at the entrance of the cave. It raised the question of why the woman who had spent thousands of years as Gylledra’s friend and companion had been barred from this place and instead he was chosen…wasn’t he? Was it even possible?

_Yes._

The thought appeared in his mind, but it wasn’t necessarily his. When he turned back toward Gylledra, taking a step in her direction, he was unhindered again. He’d been batting away his thoughts of her since the moment they had met. She’d been naked then too…he gave a small laugh to himself. Indeed, he found her beautiful, it was all he could do to tear his eyes from her since their first encounter by the icy cold creek. But it wasn’t only that…Gylledra understood things about war, about what it does to a warrior over time, she knew how it felt; they had sat talking beside the fire and then spent countless hours on the hellish journey across the sea speaking of things he’d never thought he’d discuss with another soul. He knew there were _many_ orcs who shared the same experiences he had, but it was never talked about, everything stayed buried beneath honor and strength. She had uncovered the closed off parts of him, and she didn’t even know it.

On Draenor, Saurfang had a mate, one whom he’d loved, but she had died more than twenty years before. He’d believed the part of himself that sought such companionship had died with her. He’d intended to die a warrior’s death in glorious battle, so it was no bother that he was alone, and he had never sought another. But he didn’t die…and now here he was…naked in a cave with an unconscious, half-dead elf that he was feeling… _feelings_ about. Life was funny…cruel, but funny.

What did it matter what he felt, though? He had no business feeling things about anyone, and Gylledra had gone over eleven thousand years without having any such desire, impulse, or need…she certainly wouldn’t start now…would she? That night on the ship, she’d spoken of being lovers, not of anything more. If _that_ was all she wanted of him… Saurfang harrumphed and folded his arms, it was futile either way and a waste of energy to even bother paying any heed to the thought of…

“Ahgh!” He felt a sharp prod in the back and whirled around, of course finding nothing. He narrowed his eyes, looking around the cave. Had he just been _scolded_ for his pessimism?

_Yes._

There it was again! There was also an urge to let suspicion and paranoia send him into defensiveness, but instead he felt soothed and calm, wrapped in warmth, the image of a warm hearth and a toy horse whittled from wood…a kind voice…Saurfang blinked in surprise, the unexpected memories of being a small child ought to have left him with regret and grief for the world that once was…for the life that once was…but whatever was in the cave wouldn’t let him. He could think only of the joy from those things. Distantly he wondered if perhaps it was some sort of message telling him to think more of the joyful things.

His eyes darted around, waiting for the _yes_ but there was only silence. He felt slightly mad, but didn’t care as he also felt warm and content…unfamiliar sensations these days. Orcs did not expect or seek contentment.

There was no sense of time in the cave; had he been there for minutes? Hours? Longer? Usually, Saurfang was acutely aware of the passage of time, but here it didn’t seem to exist at all. He might have been concerned about that but…the thought entered his mind and moved along just as all the others had. Except Gylledra…the thoughts of her would not move along at all and they grew stronger and more potent by the…by the what? What was a minute? There it was again, the slight feeling of madness…but he wasn’t, he knew he wasn’t.

The water…he realized they were surrounded by water and earth, powerful elements. Water had brought them together, it had ushered them, though violently, across the sea and now it was water that hopefully restore Gylledra’s strength and power. He watched her as she floated in the water, the arcane markings on her face and body shone again in the light. They had been dull and almost faded since the night of the storm.

He was hurtled back to the starkness of reality, yanked from the cocoon of happy thoughts as a shockwave of power burst forth from the pool. Gylledra took a sudden, gasping breath, her eyes opening before she immediately slipped beneath the surface of the water. Saurfang lunged, grabbing her by the waist to pull her back up again, spluttering and thrashing. She was back!

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

Gylledra wiped at her face to get the water out of her eyes, breathing hard. Her heart was pounding, and it felt sure and firm, but also, she felt like herself. She was strong again, the arcane coursing through her more potent than ever. After a moment of brief disorientation, she became aware of her surroundings, particularly the broad, green…and bare…chest and shoulders in front of her face.

“Varok…” She looked up into the familiar amber gaze and he smiled, looking relieved.

“I was worried you might not remember when you came to.” He told her.

“That would have been…startling.” She smirked, aware of their nakedness. She had not seen him in any state of undress since they had met and took the opportunity to inspect him…at least what was _above_ the water. “Though, considering our history, however brief, startling me naked in the water is rather typical under the circumstances, no?” She grew increasingly conscious of his hands against her skin. “Though…this time _you’re_ naked too.” She murmured, but pushed the thought out of mind, looking around them. It was a cave, though obviously she had no idea where. Judging by the way the water felt and looked, it was likely a convergence of ley lines. Little else would have been powerful enough to restore her.

“Are you…better?” Varok asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

“Yes…my strength and my power have returned.” Gylledra replied, and he released her. The sand under her feet was soft and warm and she caught his hands, halting him. Her memory was back as well, more of their inebriated evening, and all the pieces of the storm…particularly what had happened as she’d begun her fall into darkness. “You have saved me twice now.”

“After what you did for the orcs, of course I…” He began.

“That isn’t why you have done what you have.” She watched his face, unreadable as ever, though it seemed he was putting a good deal of effort in to remain that way. “On the ship, you opened your mind and bared everything that makes you who you are and something in that called me from the pit I was being pulled into. Such a thing cannot be done as an obligatory repayment of life, Varok.” She moved closer, letting her hands lie on his chest, the smattering of hair coarse and soft at the same time beneath her fingers. But he took her hands, lifting them away gently.

“I cannot be your lover, Gylledra.” He breathed.

“I do not want just a lover.” She replied. The thought of their bodies together while he felt nothing for her beyond the urge to bed her was painful, like a fist around her heart twisting. But if he felt nothing, he would not have been able to do what he did. “I know what I said may have made it seem like that was all I…” He kissed her, cutting off whatever she had been about to say, and pulled her against him, lifting her up. Gylledra put her arms around his neck, fully accepting his embrace. She felt his tongue stroke hers and she reciprocated, her body on fire with the need to be closer to him pumping through her veins. But the kiss was brief as he pulled back and pressed his face against her neck. The only sound around them was their breath and the water around them. She stroked his hair, closing her eyes. Part of her wondered how in a few short weeks it had come to this, she had lived a very long time and met countless people, but none made her feel as she now felt. She could feel the warmth of his breath and managed to stifle a groan as she felt his lips lightly press against her throat. One hand slid down to the small of her back and Gylledra’s tentative grasp of her self-control was nearly lost altogether.

“I was sure you were lost, that it was the end.” He told her. Pressed against him, she could feel the thrum of his deep voice in his chest, it hummed through her and Varok pulled back enough to look her in the eye. She shook her head.

“You weren’t worried about _me_.” She told him, a smile pulling up one side of her mouth. “You were just terrified of being stuck with Nas following the orcs around forever.” He threw his head back and laughed, the sound of it echoing through the cave. Gylledra had never heard him laugh quite like that and she thought that the sound of it was something beautiful…but too rare and pressed her forehead to his. Varok exhaled a shuddering breath, holding her a little tighter.

She felt as though liquid fire had saturated every fiber of her being, pooling deep down, where an ache bloomed. His eyes looked somehow darker when he pulled back again and Gylledra realized how fast her heart was beating; she wanted him. There was no questioning whether or not the feeling was mutual, he was male, and therefore provided a convenient physical indicator of arousal, which at that moment was pressed firmly between them. She kissed him then, slow and languid making her ache even worse. It was the sort of kiss she imagined could only be a prelude to something else. He was getting carried away, she could feel it, but he pulled back.

“You must stop.” Varok whispered. “Before I cannot.” Gylledra bit her lower lip, debating on whether or not it seemed he truly wished to stop. “This is not how it is done.”

“In a cave, you mean?” She asked, grinning. He watched her eyes, giving a sly smile then pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“We should get back to the others.” He told her, his mouth close to her ear so that the heat of his breath sent a chill down her spine. His gaze seemed somehow darkened when he pulled back and the chill turned to fire. “They should know that you are well again.” She nodded, simultaneously relieved and disappointed; he was right though, and reluctantly, he released her, exhaling sharply and closing his eyes as she slipped back into the water, sliding against him before her feet touched the bottom.

“I imagine Nas is beside herself…” She turned away from him, a little frustrated knot suddenly in her stomach as a number of feelings made their way through her. What had she _really_ expected? This disconcerted, confusing amalgamation she felt now was precisely why she’d never given emotional entanglements any thought before. Her _sole purpose_ was to warn, prepare, and try to protect this world from the Legion, yet she’d begun thinking of herself…of her own pleasure when she had no right…

“Gylledra.” Varok reached for her arm, turning her to look at him again as she fought to keep the internal war she raged against herself off of her face. “It is not that I…” He paused, searching for words. “You’ve only just gotten well…mere moments ago.” He wasn’t wrong, obviously, and it was plain enough by his face and other indicators that it would have been only too easy to get swept away. The discomfort in her gut eased some. She did still feel out of sorts, with no idea what was going on or where they were…or how they’d gotten there. He was wise…and considerate; thinking of her and of what was right. Gylledra was in no state to be making rash decisions and while such a thing might not seem a very big decision to some, it was to her…and to Varok. She smiled up at him though, as he gave her shoulder a squeeze.

“I understand…you’re right…and I have a lot of questions about…this.” She gestured to the cave around them as he moved past her toward the edge of the pool.

“I will answer what little I can, I suppose.” He told her. As he stood in the sand, dripping water, his back to her. Her questions had evaporated as he’d emerged from the water, and she could only stare.

Gylledra had seen plenty of naked men and women before, but she’d never felt anything beyond a passing acknowledgment of aesthetic beauty. She couldn’t really say for sure what made Varok so different, only that he was and that to look at him in his entirety seemed to stunt her ability to form thoughts or words. He was the very embodiment of strength, the power in his muscled limbs was apparent. His shoulders were broad and her eyes trailed down his back to where his waist narrowed, strong thighs and legs… The ache at her core seemed to intensify and with his offer for answers being met with silence instead of questions, Varok turned around, which did nothing to help her snap out of her distraction. Gylledra closed her mouth, but unabashedly admired every inch of him, a little intimidated perhaps by one region in particular. He arched one brow at her, a smirk on his lips, but said nothing.

“Don’t look so smug. You’re not the first naked male I’ve ever seen.” She strode out of the water then, feigning indifference. “Just…probably the first I’ve wanted to.” She muttered quietly, but he heard her and gave a snort of amusement. “You’ve seen _me_ plenty.” She gave him a devious sort of look and he shrugged. With a small gesture of her hand, they were both immediately dry. There was nothing to dry off _with_ otherwise or she wouldn’t have used magic for such a simple task; though, she also wasn’t sure her self-control or his resolve would hold out if they had to stand around undressed for much longer. “So, what is this place?” Gylledra asked as she braided her hair again. She could feel his eyes on her.

“The chieftain’s son Baine brought us here, it was the only place they knew of that might help you.” He told her, pulling his bottoms on again. She started dressing. “There is not much else I know about it, truly.”

“Has Nas stopped referring to the tauren as _those bipedal bovines_?”

“I hope so, she’s been up there with them this whole time.”

 

They made their way through the winding passage and Gylledra had time to think about what had happened on the ship in the storm. It had been foolish to summon Etzanel and partly she wanted to blame the residual intoxication that had addled her brain that night. It had nearly cost her life, and had she not been taken to this powerful place of magic where nature and a number of leylines all converged, she would not have made it.

“Varok.” She reached out and took his hand, stopping him before they went around the final bend of the passage. He turned toward her, closing his hand over hers. “You have done so much for me…more even than you probably know. You didn’t need to be kind to me, you could have cut my head off and been done with it…I just want you to know how grateful I am…”

“It has been an honor, Gylledra, one which I hope continues.” Without releasing her hand, he led her around the turn and into the bright daylight that awaited.


	6. Chapter 6

The conversations around the fire ceased the moment Varok appeared, and when Gylledra stepped out from behind him, there were a myriad of reactions ranging from relief to surprise. She wasn’t sure what to expect knowing only that there was a small company of orcs and three tauren waiting for them. Off to the left there was a strangled yelp followed by clattering wood as Nasorya dropped her armful of kindling. She emitted another incoherent sound then hurled herself at Gylledra, crushing her in a hug that nearly cut off her air supply.

“ _I was so afraid! I have never been so worried!_ ” She cried in Shalassian.

“Nas…Nas, _I cannot breathe._ ” Gylledra gasped and was released at once.

“You look…fine…as though you _weren’t_ about to die!” She exclaimed, on the verge of going to pieces. “I was left alone with strangers without knowing if I would ever see you again _._ ”

“That must have been a very terrifying one _entire_ day without my company. It would have shattered anyone I suppose.” Gylledra shook her head but smiled.

“It was TWO! Don’t mock me!” Nasorya pouted.

“There is no point dwelling on what might have been when what _is_ , is much better.” She hugged her upset, but relieved friend who then _did_ go to pieces, sobbing onto her shoulder. Gylledra looked up at Varok who wore a rare smile. “I will be along shortly, I imagine you are hungry.”

“If there’s anything you need…” He started.

“Your stomach was talking more than _you_ were on the way up.” She gave him a pointed look. _Go away_. He got the message, his stomach growling in response. With a smile curling one side of his mouth upward he gave a nod and shuffled off toward sustenance.

“I am not leaving you with _strangers_ , Nasorya.” Gylledra sighed, her attention back on the matter at hand. Nasorya stepped back, wiping at her wet cheeks, giving her head a shake as she pulled herself together.

“You were down there for _two_ days. Everyone else seemed fine with it. Though there _was_ a fair amount of speculation.” She glanced at the orcs and tauren at the fire where Varok now sat, inhaling a large bowl of probably stew.

“I’m sure there was, and they’d better hope he doesn’t hear about it.” Gylledra watched the old orc; a tauren, who could only be Baine Bloodhoof, was talking with him and judging by the various gestures that were vaguely aimed in the direction of the cave, she could guess the conversation topic.

“What _did_ happen down there?”

“A good deal of magic, I would think, but I wasn’t conscious to witness it.” She smirked. “I woke up a little while ago in the water with Varok, we…talked, he told me where we are and why, then we got dressed and here I am.”

“You paused, why did you pause?” The violet eyes narrowed at her.

“Pause? I didn’t pause…”

“Oh, come _on_ , Gyll, you’re the only one pretending there is nothing! You’ve been denying and denying and just…you don’t have to.” Nasorya pleaded. Gylledra sighed heavily, obviously on the verge of giving in, and Nasorya could tell she hadn’t yet. “You’ve told me nothing since we met the orcs. I want to see your face light up, I want to see what you look like when you’re happy.” Tears brimmed in Nasorya’s eyes again and Gylledra was taken completely aback. The words had struck her like a blow, and for a long moment she didn’t know how to reply, or even how to process the fact that in all her years, all the people she had met, even the ones she had genuinely enjoyed the company of…she never let herself truly experience joy. The more she thought about it, the more she realized she didn’t believe she deserved it. She had never kept anything from Nasorya before, but these private things, they were more intimate than she knew what to do with.

“I…alright, um…” Gylledra cleared her throat a little and Nasorya bit her lower lip, eagerly awaiting the story. They sat on a felled tree out of earshot from the fire, but in line of sight of Varok. “Well, it…”

“It? There’s an it?” Nasorya whispered excitedly.

“Nas.” Gylledra gave her a level look.

“Sorry. I’ll be quiet.”

“Something nearly happened the night we were drinking on the ship.” She started again. “And I suppose, considering that we were undressed, something nearly happened in the cave” Her cheeks felt hotter, suddenly. “But it didn’t.”

“Oh, pish. I don’t care what _almost_ happened.” Nasorya gave an exasperated sigh.

“There is…something…between us that I don’t understand. It isn’t anything I’ve dealt with before…” Gylledra fiddled idly with a twig sticking out of the log. “On the ship, I tried, very poorly, to seduce him, I suppose. Well, I goaded him really, and ended up flat on my back on the table, but his self-control is infuriatingly…potent.”

“That would have definitely made for a good story.” Nasorya nodded.

“Well, unlike you, I do not intend to give you a blow by blow retelling of whatever _experiences_ I may have.”

“Aw, why not?”

“Because…because it is… _personal_.” Gylledra blustered.

“It is less personal when _I_ talk about _my_ own…adventures?” Nasorya crossed her arms and Gylledra suspected she was somehow being baited but didn’t know how.

“No…I don’t know…it is _different_.” She sighed. There was a wicked twinkle in those violet eyes and she knew whatever the bait was, she’d taken it.

“Different because you _love_ him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Nas.” Gylledra retorted far too quickly.

“Ha…well, it’ll do you some good.”

“Or destroy me utterly?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Nasorya nudged her. “So you were really naked together down there and _nothing?_ ” Gylledra couldn’t keep the smile from her face, nor could she stop herself from glancing up again to where Varok sat consuming probably his third bowl of stew. He paused mid-shovel when he noticed her looking. She stuck her tongue out and he shook his head, amusement alight in his eyes.

“I didn’t say _nothing…_ ”

“You haven’t _said_ anything!” Nasorya huffed and Gylledra chuckled quietly. “For the love of…DID HE KISS YOU AT LEAST?!” Gylledra was grateful on one hand that Nasorya was shouting in Shalassian, but mortified nonetheless considering that Varok had a fairly firm grasp of the language now. She looked at him to find him watching her, brows arched high as though to say ‘ _Well?_ ’.

“You realize he can understand you, right?” Gylledra hissed.

“Oh yes, I know.”

“You’re insufferable…”

“Well? Did he?”

“ _Yes_ if you absolutely must know!” Gylledra made a frustrated noise.

“Of course I _must_ know, why else would interrogate and embarrass you?” Nasorya outright cackled and waved at Varok who pretended not to notice.

“You realize I _am_ back to my full strength, don’t you?”

“Oh, I am well aware, everyone felt it.” Nasorya stared at Gylledra expectantly.

“What?”

“Tell me about it!”

“There is nothing to tell!”

“Was he good at it?”

“Yes? I don’t have much of rubric considering it was more than ten millennia since the last time I was kissed!” Gylledra wondered just how long her face could feel as aflame as it did.

“Alright, well…were you covered in orc slobber when he stopped?” Nasorya crossed her legs as though she’d prepared this questionnaire.

“Nas…”

“ _Were_ you?”

“…no.”

“Did he gag you by shoving his tongue into your throat?”

“No! He…” Gylledra stopped herself as the grin spread farther across Nasorya’s devious face. “No.”

“Alright, well, most importantly then, how did it make you feel?” It seemed there was less of a teasing tone to that question and Gylledra fidgeted a little, feeling foolish and shy.

“I felt wonderful.” She finally replied, very quietly, aimlessly fiddling with a buckle on her boot. Daring to look at Varok again, she found him watching her and her smile was involuntary, and apparently contagious as he smiled back. When she looked at Nasorya she found her beaming with tears in her eyes once more. “What?”

“ _That’s_ what I wanted to see.” She explained.

“I suppose you need to get a hat." Gylledra smirked, Nasorya staring at her in confusion for a moment before she remembered their conversation the night they first met the Horde. Nasorya threw her arms around her, squeezing her and knocking them both backward off the log.

“ _Nas!_ ”

“Sorry!”

 

* * *

 

With Nasorya’s whirlwind of emotions having been seen to, Gylledra went to the fire where Varok and Baine Bloodhoof got to their feet. It was a bit embarrassing that all this fuss had been made over her, she preferred not to burden others but was grateful, knowing she might have died otherwise. She’d never been in a position before that required this kind of aid and part of her wondered if it had something to do with being on Azeroth, if somehow being on her home world, a place she was more invested in, affected her.

“You must be Baine Bloodhoof.” She greeted. “I believe I have you to thank for this…for my life…”

“I led the way, it was the ones who care for you that saved your life.” He had a pleasant way about him.

“I understand that, but nevertheless you played a part and I want to thank you for your help.”

“I almost did not.” Baine said suddenly and Varok’s brows flashed upward in surprise before he schooled his face again. Gylledra, however, just smiled.

“I am not surprised; shadow has far more weighing against it, and nothing that can be justified. As with all forces in existence, the coin has two sides. As I learned to wield it, I did so with a metaphorical knife to my throat. If I had slipped even a little into corruption, my mentor would have killed me…as he’d originally intended to.”

“I feel I made the right decision.” Baine put a firm hand on her shoulder.

“So do I, but I’m biased.” She gave him a smile as the tauren chuckled. “I hope to fight alongside the tauren when the Legion attacks.”

“I cannot imagine our people not seeking to defend the world we love. Speaking of defense…” Baine released her and turned to Varok. “I have gotten word that your people are headed north from Mulgore into the Stonetalon Mountains, so I will take you there to meet back up with them.” The enormous tauren still watched Gylledra closely, as one would watch any potentially dangerous stranger. The orcs had helped them, after all, not her. She had yet to prove herself as someone worthy of trust; she had yet to prove it even to all the orcs, the only one she knew truly trusted her was Varok, but he had seen inside her mind. “We will leave at dawn, unless you need more time to recover…”

“No, I will be ready at dawn.” She assured him.

 

* * *

 

Gylledra felt energized and alert, not even remotely tired as the rest of the group slept. She tossed and turned for a while on her bedroll before getting frustrated and decided to take a walk. The silvery light of the White Lady shone down through the trees, both illuminating the marshy forest and casting shadows. To Gylledra, shadows were alive, they were things almost. To some it might seem impossible that the absence of everything had power, that _nothing_ could be wielded like a weapon.

Most curious of all was where her thoughts had been dwelling since she stepped out of the cave. True, she’d been thinking quite a lot about Varok, but what weighed most heavily on her was the newfound desire to be in the world after the Legion’s defeat, to truly live. Gylledra wanted things she had never given any thought to before. She wanted a home, someplace that was hers, she wanted people and it didn’t matter if those people were elves or orcs or anyone else.

She had spent nearly her entire life avoiding having something to lose again. She’d lost what she did have, her family, and the blame for it loomed over her…had it not been for her, they would not be dead. Bent on revenge, or the need to feel something other than grief and regret, she had left behind what did remain of her family before they could be taken away too.

Waging war on the Burning Legion had always seemed like a righteous cause, one Gylledra had been hiding behind for thousands of years. She _did_ truly desire to see Sargeras and all his forces eradicated to cease the senseless destruction of worlds, but it had also been a convenient front while she ran away from her own life. Nasorya was right…Gylledra had lived long without genuine joy, without thinking of her own happiness and desires, but it wasn’t in altruism, it was cowardice. How could she ever truly have the strength to fight the Legion if she didn’t know what it was to have a home or what it meant to love? If she had nothing to lose…nothing to fight for…then what _was_ she even fighting for?

She leaned against the trunk of a thick tree as regret rose up into the back of her throat like bile. Centuries…millennia…wasted. She had failed herself, submersed in a gray existence devoid of feeling. Yes, she loved Nasorya like a sister, though initially, it was simply that she refused to stop following Gylledra around…but before setting foot back on Azeroth, there had been _nothing_ else.

What’s done is done, she thought to herself, shoving her regret and self-pity back down. Those feeling accomplished nothing besides tempting her to wallow in wretchedness. Her only choice was to find her strength through what once seemed like only a vulnerability. Through her fear she had known incredible failure, perhaps it would be through hope for having her very own happiness that might clear the path to victory.

As though summoned from her thoughts, Varok stepped out of the shadows as he approached. She watched him for a moment, saying nothing but admiring how the moonlight struck the silver of his hair.

“Are you alright?” His voice was quiet amidst the sounds of the night.

“Yes, just restless.” She replied. “I’ve had much to think on.”

“As have I.” Varok agreed. She didn’t think that sounded very good for her, but inquired anyway.

“Oh?”

“Much has happened since we set sail, profound and otherwise.” He peered up at the moon for moment. “I had a mate…” Gylledra froze at that, saying nothing, waiting for him to go on. “Do not look so nervous, Gylledra, she has been gone more than two decades.” He gave a one sided smile and she cleared her throat.

“I’m not nervous.” She denied, knowing full well it was a lie. There was an uncomfortable feeling in her gut thinking of Varok with a mate, an orc of course, something _she_ would never be. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know whatever he was going to tell her.

“I had not thought to ever have another.”

“She was your great love?” She regretted the question the instant she said it and he looked at her for a moment.

“I loved her, she bore me my son. But…who I am now is vastly different from the orc I was then.” He went on. “Like any younger orc, I was brash, intemperate, and bent on bring glory to my clan and to the Horde. I made foolish choices thinking of myself, _my_ glory, _my_ honor.” He leaned against another tree and she joined him in the shadows of it. “The red pox consumed her, as it had so many. Our son was only an infant, and I gave him to the elders of Garadar to hide away, to keep him safe from the fel as I had promised his mother.” A _son?_ Gylledra thought. How had the possibility escaped her that one such as he had a family? Like him in his intemperate youth, she was thinking more of herself than most anything else, she feared. “He is grown now, wherever he is.”

“I am sorry…” Gylledra wasn’t sure what to say, or why he had told her.

“Do not be, it was a long time ago, and I left my boy safe.” He gave a sad smile. “Though I do still think of him each day.”

“I wish I had a heart-felt story to share with you.” She looked up at him and he put his arms around her, shadows in his eyes, unspoken words.

“I had not thought to ever have another mate.” Varok said again, in a whisper.

“I am not an orc.” She replied, just as quietly. “I cannot suppose it would be acceptable to your brethren to choose an elf over one of your own.”

“Were you any other elf, perhaps.” A small smile crossed his lips. “But you are the elf that aided in our departure from the Eastern Kingdoms, who then nearly sacrificed your own life to ensure we made it across the sea. There is no orc that would deny you a place amongst us as an ally.”

“As an ally.” Gylledra murmured. “But as a mate?”

“I will do as I please; only a fool would question my decisions.”

“Knowing what they do of my power, they would think I had bewitched you.”

“No.” He gave a chuckle. “That would be accusing me of weakness, which they know is very bad for their health.”

“Fair point. So, then what? In a cave is not how it is done, I cannot suppose secretly in the moonlight is how it is done either.” She flashed a grin, letting her hands lay on his chest, though he was armored once more, and she knocked on it lightly.

“No.” Varok shook his head.

“Though, it is unclear what you mean by _it_ , because if you mean coupling, well, that is done just about everywhere, orc or not. I have seen it…and heard Nasorya’s tales.” She went on. He chuckled again, releasing her.

“We start a long journey tomorrow, we’d best get back and get what rest we can.” He told her, offering no clarification or explanation of what he’d meant at all. Gylledra sighed, giving a mildly annoyed sound of assent.

 

* * *

 

At dawn, the small party broke down camp and prepared to depart. Very little lay ahead of them that wasn’t shrouded in uncertainty. The unknown was intimidating because it might mean failure and defeat, but it could also mean success and joy, and Gylledra chose to plan for victory.

She plucked a small red flower as Nasorya secured their meager belongings to the straps of a kodo. The color was deep, like blood…the color of the Horde, and she spun it between her fingers, watching its nine petals twirl. When Gylledra looked up she found both Nasorya and Varok staring at her with concern.

“What?” She stuck the flower in her hair and Nasorya’s mouth dropped open before she turned to Varok.

“What did you do to her?”

“What did I…?” He spluttered.

“I’m _allowed_ to like flowers.” Gylledra said, incredulous. Nasorya leaned close, staring into her eyes with scrutiny.

“I don’t know exactly what happened in that cave…but I’m glad.” With that, she climbed onto the kodo. Gylledra moved to get on as well but Nasorya pulled the reigns, moving it away from her. “No. You and Mr. Moonlit-walk can ride together.” She told them, pointing at Varok, then rode toward the front of the group. It wasn’t a terrible disappointment and Gylledra turned to look up at Varok who had just mounted his own beast.

“That settles that.” He rumbled, likely not as annoyed as he sounded. “Come on.”

“On back?” She eyed the saddle warily, skeptical of its viability to seat two.

“Only if you want to fall off.” He held out his hand and Gylledra took it, as he practically picked her up and sat her astride the kodo in front of him. Yes, this would do nicely, she thought. “I think I can handle having your _heft_ in my lap.” Gylledra gasped theatrically, looking over her shoulder at him as he smirked.

 

* * *

 

Gylledra was acutely aware of the fact her backside was wedged firmly between Varok’s thighs. Her back was pressed against his chest, his arms around her as he held the reins…she could feel every minute movement he made and became hyperaware of her tactile sense. There was little else to focus on or distract herself with and every shift of his legs and hips seemed to make the deep parts of her clench just a little. There was virtually no room between Gylledra and the pommel; she tried to shift just a little bit and found at once what a terrible mistake that was, gasping as the leather ridge pressed against her. Seeking to avoid so _closely_ riding the pommel for the next several hours, she shifted back, also a mistake, as her backside pressed even tighter to Varok’s thighs and he made a small noise.

“What’s the matter?” He asked, his mouth close to her ear as he leaned down. She squirmed as his warm breath sent a chill down her spine, the deep reverberation of his voice did not help.

“I’ve become a bit too intimately acquainted with the pommel.” She replied. Just then, the blasted kodo shifted, which moved the harden leather pressed so tightly against her that she winced, but not in pain.

“It could be worse.” He offered.

“ _How_?” Gylledra demanded, falling into the obviously laid trap before her brain could stop her. He placed his hand flat on her abdomen but moved it slowly, his fingers descending between her legs but stopping before reaching too far. She inhaled sharply, clutching at his thighs, very grateful that they were bringing up the rear. At least everyone else was facing forward. She looked up at Varok over her shoulder and found his mouth close to hers. There was a delightful wickedness in his eyes, as he let his lips lightly brush hers before pulling back so she could not kiss him properly. “Oh, you’re a bastard.” She whispered.

“It’s going to be a long ride.” He murmured, his mouth against her ear. Gylledra’s eyes moved over the rest of their fellow travelers who either heard nothing or were diligently ignoring their existence.

“Is _this_ how things are done?” She hissed and the chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“No.” He said simply but suddenly gripped her, making her gasp aloud as he lifted. But he scooted himself back a bit in the saddle, releasing her to sit more comfortably, his arm innocently wrapped around her middle now. She could feel herself trembling slightly but cleared her throat.

“Thank you.” She told him quietly.

“You’re welcome.” He breathed.

“You must know a lot of stories. Tell me one.” Gylledra quickly changed the subject.

“What kind of story?”

“Something diverting, maybe about things before you were the great Commander Saurfang.” She offered.

“You require a diversion?” He asked, knowing very well she did. With a huff, she crossed her arms. “How about the story of how Draenor came to be?” Gylledra gave a nod and Varok launched into the tale of Sporemounds, the Evergrowth, and the mighty Grond.

 

* * *

 

They’d made it into the Barrens the first day, which were beautiful in a rugged, untouched sort of way…but they were aptly named as the stretches of dirt, tall grass, and hills all began to look exactly the same. Periodically a large cat easily camouflaged in the grass would explode out from underneath a brambly patch of growth. It made for something interesting at least for a minute or so.

Camp was set up as the sun dipped below the horizon and they ate without incident. Most everyone fell asleep shortly after as they had been moving at an exhausting pace. Gylledra still found it somewhat difficult to sleep, however, her mind immediately littered with thoughts and questions about this world and what she might do in it if she was ever free from the oath she took, if the Legion was ever truly defeated.

The fire had died down to glowing coals and Gylledra could see the outline of those who were sleeping. An orc was on watch and he was some ways off, facing away. She turned over, looking in the direction of the shape that was Varok. He also was not asleep, she could tell by the way he was breathing.

Silently, she shrugged out of her coat and vest then made her way to his side where he lay on his back, a saddle bag beneath his head. He grabbed her, pulling her on top of him and she barely stifled a squeak of surprise. He kissed her and held her against his chest but a quiet sigh escaped her.

“Shh.” He shushed. She could feel him grin and she lightly bit his lower lip, pressing her hips against him. This time he had to stifle a soft groan.

“Is _this_ how things are done?” Gylledra whispered.

“Certainly not. But you wear down my resolve.” Varok kissed her roughly, tugging at her shirt and somehow managing to unbind her hair. He moved to roll over but suddenly she froze and he halted. Her eyes darted into the darkness, there was a strange scuffling and what might have been hooves. _Hooves?_ She inhaled sharply. “What?” Varok breathed.

“Centaur…” She hissed, her heart suddenly pounding for different reasons. “ _CENTAUR!_ ” She leapt off him and to her feet, hurling a ball of flames at the nearly extinguished bonfire at the center of their small camp. It erupted, lighting up the area as everyone scrambled up.

The lookout lay dead where he had been sitting, somehow she hadn’t even heard him die. Another orc who had been sleeping near the edge of the camp was also dead and a burning fury rose up in Gylledra as she searched the darkness for movement. Those orcs were dead because of her, because she had needed help.

“They’re still here.” Varok snarled, axe in hand. “I can smell them.”

“This is my fault.” She whispered so only he could hear.

“Don’t.” He shot her a look and she gave one right back.

“Nevertheless I _will_ put them down.”

“Gylledra…you…” Nasorya started.

“ _No._ ” It came out harsher than she meant it to.

The fire suddenly extinguished and when it flared up again, they were surrounded by centaur, one of which held the blade of his spear to Gylledra’s throat.

“Oh, shit…” Nasorya stared at the one holding a spear, almost amused, knowing what was in store for him and his brethren.

Gylledra and her band of orcs and tauren were severely outnumbered. Baine was ready to spring into action, teeth bared as he looked from face to face. One centaur, a bit bigger than the others, stepped forward, looking smug.

“Fortune smiles upon us that we happen to fall upon the chieftain’s son outnumbered by his new allies. It won’t look good when they find your carcass slaughtered by what seems to have been your green friends.” He taunted.

“It would seem you’ve woefully misjudged fortune.” Gylledra snarled, changing as her rage and shadow coursed violently through her.

The leader gave a nod and as the centaur holding the spear to her throat moved to thrust it into her, she darted out of the way and in a flash, grabbed the spear, pulling it from his hands and drove the sharpened butt of it through his neck. The dying centaur fell at once, making a spluttering gaging noise before he hit the ground and she pulled out the spear.

Chaos erupted as the centaurs surged forward to strike, but they were met with a blast of purple and white-blue energy that bypassed the orcs and tauren, forcing back their attackers. The leader bellowed orders and the spear in Gylledra’s hands became charged with power. She hurled it across the camp, hitting him in the abdomen. Black tendrils slithered out of the wound, wrapping around him as the front line of his soldiers burst into flame. This was enough to halt the others, at least momentarily.

The orcs and tauren were all ready to fight but looked back and forth between the centaurs and Gylledra. The leader struggled as the black tendrils pulled him to the ground. No one spoke, there was only the sound of flames and the slowly lessening screams of the burning centaur.

“More will rise from where each one of us falls!” The leader grunted, with difficulty.

“I will cut down any who rise in their place.” She replied, her voice sounding strange. It felt good to use her power again, she felt stronger but her rage was close to the surface. Gylledra did not take kindly to her allies being murdered in their sleep. Loss of life was expected in battle, but cowardice such as this disgusted her. There was honor in dying by the hand of the enemy, honorable deaths she could accept, but for two to die in this way when they had volunteered to embark on a journey that was to save _her_ life…that she could not abide.

Some of the Centaur had begun to run off, but her impulse was unchecked as she raised her arms, black spikes drove up out of the earth and into their bodies, halting and ending them at once. There had been perhaps fifty or sixty to start with and their numbers were dwindling. They wavered back and forth between wanting to attack and fleeing, knowing that both would get them killed. From what she’d been told, they had been terrorizing the tauren as far back as anyone could remember. It was a much fairer fight now, despite her group still being slightly outnumbered and she turned to the waiting orcs and tauren.

“Fight for the honor of the fallen.” She told them simply and stepped back as they attacked the remaining centaurs, their war cries ringing out.

The enemy was cut down with no more interference from Gylledra, their ferocity and strength were more than enough to take down even those who outnumbered them. The leader still lay struggling on the ground, blood seeping from the spear wound and she crouched down, leaning close to his ear.

“Know this, centaur…when we have honored our dead…I will march on your camp…and I will burn it to the ground.”

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

The battle had not been lengthy, but it was fierce and Saurfang’s breath was slowing as he wiped the blood from his axe in the grass. It was not the first unexpected night battle he’d experienced, nor would it likely be the last. Though, it _was_ the first time he’d been interrupted in the midst of other things. He looked amongst the dead centaur and saw Gylledra kneeling beside the two orc who had been cut down in cowardice. He knew it didn’t matter what he told her, she blamed their deaths on herself.

He wasn’t sure what he expected of her in a fight, but whatever it was, it was not what she had done. The memory of the storm on the ship and the sheer magnitude of her power was not something he had forgotten, but he was reminded anew as he saw the charred remains of those who had burned.

“This was nothing.” Nasorya told him, suddenly at his side, somehow able to discern what his thoughts were lingering on. “Wait until you see her fight demons, I would wager you’ve never seen anything like it, not even from the warlocks on your home world.” Saurfang said nothing but she smiled and walked away.

Gylledra’s half open shirt hung off one shoulder, untucked from her trousers, and her long dark hair cascaded down her back. Some fell forward as she bowed her head, her eyes squeezed shut. She seemed back to herself, but everything about her had changed when she wielded the shadow. It should have been frightening to see, but he found it beautiful and powerful.

“Gylledra.” He said softly, getting on one knee beside her. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“They should not be dead…if I hadn’t been…if I had made a better choice that night…” She started, and looked over at him, regret in her eyes.

“All who agreed to come on this trek were made aware of its danger, of the possibility that the centaurs could attack.” He told her.

“They didn’t even have a chance to fight.” She shook her head.

“There will be stories about how they were slain by our enemy, but that you fought against the centaurs to bring glory to their names. I knew them both, they were good warriors, it is why I trusted them to come. They will still be remembered with honor.” He laid his hand on her back and she looked for a long moment at the bodies on the ground.

“You saw a glimpse of the monster I can be.” Gylledra’s voice was a whisper and Saurfang frowned slightly. Her eyes seemed to flash as she looked up into the darkness. “You will see it again when I kill them all.” She got to her feet and strode away, her anger still palpable.

“I am glad she is not our enemy.” Baine told Saurfang as he approached. Saurfang rose and nodded in agreement.

“As am I.” He rumbled, watching her across the way pulling on her vest and braiding her hair again.

“Dawn approaches soon, what should we do?”

“We will build them pyres and then we will follow Gylledra to the centaurs who sent these ones to kill us.” He looked over at the tauren who seemed a bit perturbed by the idea.

“What will she do?”

“They meant to incite war between your people and mine, what do you think she will do?” Saurfang gestured to the dead around them and Baine’s eyes grew wide.

“All of them?”

“All of them.”

 

There were still a few hours until dawn when the camp was moved away to a cleaner clearing. The group spoke quietly amongst themselves, most simply sitting and waiting for the dawn. Saurfang and Baine had made sure their kodos were still secure and began putting the saddle bags and harnesses back on. They returned to the ring of light cast by the fire and Saurfang noticed at once the Gylledra was not present. Nasorya looked conspicuously as though she were trying to avoid notice.

“Where did she go?” He demanded. She looked up at him with wide eyes, doing the worst impression of innocence he had ever seen.

“Do you really think she tells me everything?” She asked, giving an exaggerated shrug.

“Yes.” He growled.

“That’s fair. I’ll give you three guesses.” The grin that spread across her face was positively diabolical.

“Nasorya…” He started.

“ _Fine_ , I will give you one guess.” The grin somehow widened.

“She is on her way alone to the centaur camp.” Baine interjected.

“Very astute.” She told them. “She didn’t want you following too closely, but if we leave now, I imagine we’ll still catch some of the show.” Saurfang gave a frustrated growl and barked orders to move out. He should have supposed she would disappear on her own to rain down a dark retribution.

 

Their small company moved as quickly as they could with lumbering kodo in tow. They weren’t exactly beasts made for speed. They were on the move for two hours when there was light rising over the hill ahead of them.

“Dawn approaches.” One of the orcs commented.

“We are moving _west_.” Saurfang replied. “That is not the sun.”

They drew closer and finally the blaze came into view. It had been a rather large camp; the crude structures and tents were nothing but burning frames. Off to one side, Gylledra sat perched on a large rock, her legs crossed as she watched the fire. She briefly glanced back at them before she continued watching. The heat was immense and even from as far back as they were, they could feel it on their faces.

Though he had not watched Gylledra set the camp on fire, Saurfang suddenly felt something very heavy and uncomfortable in his gut. The camp was large enough to be a village…even the children of centaur, the children of any enemy…did not deserve to die for the sins they had not committed.

“They are all dead?” Baine asked her as they approached.

“Yes…well, two or three managed to run off, but I figure there has to be someone to tell the story. I made sure they knew who they were running from.” She gave a mirthless laugh and hopped off the rock, finally looking at Saurfang who quickly looked away, staring into the fire. He was no stranger to sacking cities, to driving his axe through anything that moved that wasn’t another orc. It confused and disgusted him that one moment she was torn up over the needless loss of life, but then…she was capable of…this.

“All of them…” Baine was astonished and Saurfang could not tell if he was ecstatic or horrified by it.

“It was a warband camp.” She told them. “There were no young amongst them.”

“How can you be sure?” Saurfang gave Gylledra a cold stare which she met squarely, unflinchingly. He wondered if there was truly anything that she feared.

“Because I burned it from the inside out.” She stepped up to him. “I would not slay their children any more than I would have slain those human children in Hillsbrad, Varok.” She’d known somehow what it had brought to his mind, but then, she had once seen inside him, she knew him in a way no other ever had. Saurfang realized then that he needed to trust in what he knew of her, too.


	7. Chapter 7

The group had traveled in relative silence for two days, even Nasorya was quiet. It was all business as everyone kept watch for threats, be they centaur or otherwise. While Gylledra found it bothersome that Varok was suddenly so distant, she thought perhaps it was for the best. They’d been distracted when the attack happened, and she wondered if she would have been alerted sooner if they had not been…preoccupied. Her cycle of self-blame had yet to be broken.

“Did I miss something?” Nasorya whispered, walking close beside Gylledra.

“Hm?”

“The two of you haven’t said five words to each other since…the thing.” There was legitimate concern on Nasorya’s face.

“I suppose watching someone you’d felt some passing fondness for burn an entire camp full of people alive will put a damper on the desire for further canoodling. I told him I was a monster, I suppose he didn’t believe me.” Gylledra muttered, the words laced with bitterness and disappointment.

“Passing fondness…you’re out of your mind. He’s a fucking orc, Gyll, do you _know_ what they do for fun? Violence. They _do violence_ for _fun_.” Nasorya went on.

“Nas…”

“Canoodling? _That’s_ what you were doing?”

“Please, don’t.” Gylledra sighed, feeling terrible enough as it was without having her choices picked apart as well.

“But…” Nasorya looked back to where Varok was bringing up the rear. “If it helps, he looks as miserable as you do.”

“That’s just his face…he always looks like that…”

“Want me to talk to him?”

“I will cover you in wards and strap you to a kodo.” Gylledra snapped at her. Nasorya made an irritated noise, rolling her eyes.

“Did it occur to you to maybe have a conversation?” She asked.

“Would you cease hounding me if I asked you to stop?”

“Probably not.” Nasorya put an arm around Gylledra’s shoulders, giving her a squeeze. “You _know_ I can’t stand seeing you…sad and…surly.”

“I’m not surly.”

“She says, with surliness.”

“I think it’s probably better this way.” Gylledra offered. “Such attachments are distracting and in battle…distractions are weaknesses that can be exploited…”

“Really? That’s the route you’re going with this? You think about things far too much.”

“Perhaps, Nasorya, you don’t think about things _enough_.”

“Yes, and _see_ how happy I am?”

Gylledra noticed that as the argument intensified, those around them had moved away somewhat and she wasn’t sure if it was because they wanted to give them privacy or if they simply feared her. The latter did not help matters at all and she just shook her head, berating herself silently for having been so foolish. She glowered and marched onward, distantly aware and grateful that Nasorya had opted to stop pushing her about things.

She flinched, feeling a hand on her shoulder suddenly and was startled to find Varok walking beside her. Immediately, Gylledra looked around for Nasorya and spotted her where she was vigorously shaking her head to indicate she had _nothing_ to do with it.

“Tired of riding?” She asked Varok, looking ahead.

“It’s good to walk, too much riding make me stiff.” He replied and Gylledra pointedly ignored the glaringly obvious opening for a joke.

“I do not burn camps and villages on a whim.” She told him without preamble. They slowed somewhat, allowing the rest of the group to get ahead of them.

“I did not say that you do.”

“I saw the look on your face when you thought…when you _did_ think so.” She glanced over at him again and he was watching her.

“It crossed my mind.” He admitted.

“I cannot blame you, we are still practically strangers…”

“Except that we are not.” He stopped her and took her by the shoulders to look up at him. “You know that we are not.”

“So?” She breathed, realizing that the way he had looked at her as the camp burned had hurt.

“ _So_?” He frowned. “After what we spoke of…”

“For that moment when you looked at me as that camp burned, I _felt_ like a monster.”

“It was not really you I looked at, I saw myself and my own atrocities, my disgust is for _my_ crimes, I should not have let you think it was you.” He told her. “I am sorry for that.” They started walking again, both still aware of their surroundings, there would be no more surprise attacks.

“I have no idea what I am doing.” She told him, not sure if she meant in general or with him…or both. “There is no plan…no knowing what is coming…”

“That’s to be expected, I suppose. We’ve put a lot of trust into Thrall and his vision.” He replied.

“And…I could never have foreseen that I might find someone who…” Gylledra glanced over and he made a noise of agreement. Her voice was very quiet when she spoke again. “I did not expect…”

“Nor I.”

“So.” She cleared her throat. They’d discussed themselves and whatever happening between them quite enough already, she thought. There was much at work that was far bigger and more important than their personal dealings. “We make our way to Stonetalon Peak where we hope to meet up with Thrall and the rest of the orcs, where he is hoping to find his oracle who will tell him of the Horde’s destiny here in these lands.”

“That is my understanding of it.”

“We must stop here for a rest.” She announced, drawing confused looks from the orcs and tauren. They had stopped for food and water only three or so hours earlier. “We need to rejoin the others sooner rather than later, and I know how we can move faster.”

“What are you planning?” Varok asked, the group halting as she had asked. Her eyes flashed and around her hands, tendrils of bright arcane curled and undulated. She moved and shaped the power as though molding clay. The magic itself took the shape of a table with food laid out upon it. A small, whirling vortex appeared in their midst, becoming a shining well with clear, sparkling water.

“This food and drink will give you the energy and endurance to travel faster and longer.” She told them, though they all looked a little wary. “You have seen what I can do with shadow, this magic bears no trace of it, I assure you.” The orcs had known her longer and knew that she would not do anything that might harm or taint them, and they took the food and filled their skins and cups with the water, as did Nasorya of course Varok followed suit and then at last, Baine took some and ate, which prompted the other two escorts to do the same.

“It is delicious…” The female tauren, Natane, commented, smiling. As they ate, Gylledra went to each kodo, giving them food and drink as well and once everyone had partaken, the table and the well vanished. They watched as she grew still for a long moment, her eyes glowing bright white. Slowly, she raised her hands as though cupping water then with a quick gesture, several equine creatures materialized, stomping hooves and sniffing the air.

“We will move faster if we are all mounted.” She told them, her eyes returning to normal before she reached out to ruffle the ethereal mane of one of the creatures. She effortlessly hopped up onto the back of one. “Do not worry, they are not of this plane, they will bear the weight even of orcs with no trouble.”

“I’m calling mine Bubble.” Nasorya said, mounting up and Gylledra smiled, turning to Varok who was staring at the one nearest to him, touching it, as though marveling that something made of magic was a tangible thing.

“I suppose this means we won’t ride together then.” He spoke so only she could hear and cocked an eyebrow, but smirked.

“No.” Gylledra shook her head. “I’m sorry to say, but there can be no more distractions.” She tugged the reins and the creature obeyed. Those who were not riding before climbed onto the backs of the creatures, even Baine, who brought it near to where she sat on hers.

“These are elemental.” He observed. Nasorya galloped by with a delighted shriek.

“Yes…I don’t commune with the elements the way a shaman does, but nevertheless, I am connected.” She explained. “Perhaps even more now than I knew before, thanks to your cave.” Everyone looked ready to go and she moved to the front, Varok and Baine beside her. “We will ride through the night, there can be no more delays.”

“Are you taking command?” Baine asked, not offended, but curious. She looked at them, and the faces of the others before giving a nod.

“Yes. This group assembled because of me and we lost two, I will not allow anyone else to perish.” With that, she surged forward with the confidence of any commander, knowing that they would follow.

 

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

 

There was no part of whatever came next that Thrall was looking forward to. His ability as a Warchief was being tested again and again. This coming battle against his own brothers and sisters of the Horde, the Warsong, left him with a sick feeling in his stomach. The army had grown from only orcs to include the trolls, and then the tauren…and now, they allied with the human survivors of Lordaeron. Though many would have thought it foolish, he hoped that should they be successful, perhaps the human leader, Jaina Proudmore, would remember that they all fought for Azeroth, that they all sought to carve out a place to belong…a home. Nothing would undo the orcs’ past, but he could work toward a future where such horrors were not seen again. He hoped…

“Thrall.” Eitrigg walked up to him.

“What is it?” He asked.

“There are riders approaching, I believe it is Saurfang and Gylledra.” The old warrior replied.

“Then it worked?” Truly he had expected the elf to die and realized in that moment that he’d vastly underestimated her. Despite hearing the tales, he’d had his doubts about just how she had stopped the ships from being pulled into the Maelstrom.

“Who is approaching?” Jaina Proudmore was suddenly standing with them, concern etched into her young face.

“A detachment of our own.” He explained as they arrived. They were dusty from travel, but none seemed as exhausted as he would have expected despite having ventured into the Stonetalon mountains to rejoin with them. Gylledra looked stronger than ever, her shoulders back and her head held high. She was speaking with Saurfang who seemed to be agreeing with whatever she said. Judging by the way she gestured at the field ahead of them, he guessed tactics.

“Who is _that?_ ” Jaina asked, spotting the elf who indeed stuck out amongst the orcs.

“That…is Gylledra, _our_ mage.” Whatever familiarity had developed between Gylledra and Saurfang, Thrall could see it had certainly progressed judging by their proximity and the ease in which they communicated. They were headed for Thrall where he stood with the human mage, upon whom Gylledra’s scrutinizing gaze was locked.

“I am glad to see you are well again, Gylledra.” Thrall greeted, speaking in common to avoid alienating their tentative ally, but Gylledra looked only at the human who did not shrink under the inspection.

“ _I wonder what fool it was that taught magic to humans_.” She told him in orcish, knowing Jaina would not understand. She looked him in the eye finally. “ _I would have thought so chaotic and tiny a mind would not possess the fortitude to wield the arcane._ ” Saurfang let out a long breath that most would have mistaken for impatience but in truth he was trying to hide his amusement.

“Yes, what was done is undone and then some.” He commented to Thrall, ignoring her uncharitable remarks. Gylledra’s head whirled around to look up at him, eyes narrowing somewhat before turning back to Thrall.

“We were set upon by fifty or sixty centaurs in the middle of the night. Resok and Krilg were killed not in the ensuring fight, but in cowardice in the dark before we knew they had come to attack.” She told them in common, the expression she wore was grim as though she still held anger.

“They will be honored, though they could not die in battle.” Thrall told her.

“Fifty or sixty? Against twenty or so?” Jaina interjected, drawing Gylledra’s attention again.

“Yes.” Her voice was quiet. “And when they were all dead, I made my way to their camp, likely one of the largest remaining after what was done to the rest of them when we made landfall.” She looked back at Thrall. “The camp is no more.”

“What did you do?” It was Jaina again, who did not appear to know what to make of the elf standing before her.

“I burned them all. They will be a bother to no one now.” The smile Gylledra gave was anything but pleasant.

“What are these rumors I hear of the Warsong?” Saurfang stepped forward.

“Much has happened in your absence, Saurfang.” Thrall told him. “Come, we must all talk.”

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

 

The oracle had revealed to Thrall and the humans what Gylledra had already known, that the Legion was not coming…it had arrived. She could see it even in some of the orcs, the taint of fel, what remained of their blood curse was making some of them violent and hungry for battle and bloodshed. She could _feel_ the demonic power in the air. Not only that, though, the Warsong clan, which had been sent north to begin logging had consumed the blood of a demon yet again, renewing the Legion’s hold over them, turning them against their own, against everything.

Thrall and the human, Jaina Proudmore, had been forced into an alliance neither had wanted but was, without question, absolutely necessary. The division amongst warring factions had been the end of many worlds Gylledra had helplessly watched burn. She did not think much of humans, finding from what she had read and seen of them that they seemed somewhat simple. To come across one that bore as much power as the mage, Jaina, was something of a shock.

 

The army made its way back out of the Stonetalon mountains, heading into the Barrens once more. The presence of demons was growing stronger, Gylledra could feel them. She had spent millennia at war with them and was far better equipped to face them on the battlefield than anyone she marched with. They were less than a day from where the Warsong, drunk on fel power, were camped and waiting. As the sun was going down, though, they set up camp for the night.

“We’re running low on meat; some hunting parties were sent out.” Eitrigg mentioned in passing, dropping his bags and sitting against a boulder. Nasorya was tangled in rope as she attempted to erect her usual lean-to structure. Gylledra stacked some of the dry wood they’d been collecting in the center of a ring of small stones Pava was arranging for the fire.

“Gylledra.” Varok said, unloading another armful of wood.

“Hm?” She didn’t look up, arranging the wood in a cone shape.

“Will you come hunt with me?” He asked.

“Yes, of course, I…” She halted as everyone was suddenly silent and she glanced around, thinking perhaps there was an enemy coming but found the orcs all staring at her. Nasorya looked as confused as Gylledra felt, and Pava stared, her mouth hanging open. “What?” Gylledra sat back on her heels and looked up at Varok who offered no explanation, but his expression seemed serene. “ _What?_ ” She hissed at Pava who grabbed her arm, yanking her a bit closer to whisper.

“It is a courtship ritual, for a male and female to hunt as a pair.” Her friend hastily whispered. At that, Gylledra’s eyes widened as she understood. Now with an explanation, everyone seemed to stare even more eagerly now, and she cleared her throat, getting to her feet. She brushed off her hands, meeting Varok’s eyes.

“Yes.” She told him simply.

“Let us go then, so these slack-jawed idiots will close their mouths, hm?” He growled good-naturedly. Gylledra nodded, biting her lower lip as she followed him. Nasorya started an inappropriate gesture and Gylledra promptly kicked out the support pole so that the canvas came down over her head.

Varok picked up his axe and they headed out of the camp. Ahead of them was a copse of trees and she wondered if they would run into any of the other hunting parties. She could practically feel the stares boring into their backs, but didn’t care.

“So…” She started, a grin spreading across her face. “ _This_ is how it is done.”

“Yes.” He replied, glancing down at her. She saw he was smiling too, and they were quiet for a moment as the realization of what was happening settled down over her. Her heart lodged itself in her throat as she stared ahead at those trees, the dark sheltered area away from prying eyes…and ears. This time there was an entire army on the watch, she didn’t have to worry about any roving enemies.

“I suppose we may not accomplish much hunting…” She mused.

“We will if that is what you wish to do.” He replied.

“It is not.” She said much more quietly.

“I did not think so.” Varok murmured and she chewed her lower lip some more. It had been all fun and games before…teasing and flirting, stolen kisses and glances…but now it was real. It was overwhelming to truly consider but it was what she wanted. Something in her had longed for it since the first time his eyes had raked down her naked body, his axe at her throat. That budding desire, the unexpected passing attraction had grown into much, _much_ more.

It was cooler beneath the trees in the shadows, but it did not allay Gylledra’s rapid pulse. Varok took her hand and while the simple contact settled her somewhat, still her anticipation pumped through her. They came to a grassy clearing and somehow, appearing completely calm and collected, Varok leaned his axe against a felled tree then sat down, his back against the large log. It had not escaped her notice, and likely no one else’s either, that he’d not worn his pauldrons. She stared at him for a moment and he arched a brow at her, perhaps wondering why suddenly she was so jittery. Gylledra sat beside him and he draped his arm about her.

“Under normal circumstances, I assume there actually _is_ hunting?” She asked him.

“Typically, but I didn’t suppose we have that kind of time.” He replied. “Though, I did not bring you out here for the sole purpose of physical gratification, Gylledra, I only wish to spend time with you, whatever that entails, while there _is_ time before tomorrow’s battle.”

“You truly _are_ honorable.” She replied quietly. “Not that I wasn’t aware of that.” She smiled and looked down, her cheeks growing hot. “The battle tomorrow is no small thing, the threat of death is real, but I do not fear it. I will fight and accept my fate if it comes, but I do not want to die before…knowing you. If after that, I shall fall, then I think it will be a happy death, knowing I was well loved.” Varok pulled her to sit across his lap, his eyes intent on hers.

“You are well-loved.” He told her, his voice deep, humming through her. “I will make sure of it.” Gylledra caught a flash of his wicked smile before he kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, open for him, stroking his tongue with her own, allowing him to take over her. She moved, straddling his lap as his hands roamed over her form and she felt breathless when he pulled back, looking into her eyes.

“Why are you trembling? Are you afraid I will hurt you?” The question was quiet, and she could hear the concern in his voice.

“I know you will not hurt me. I am a little nervous is all…” She smiled, trying to shrug it off.

“But why?” His brow drew slightly, and she realized that he didn’t _know_.

“Did you think that I was lying when I said I never had a lover?”

“I thought you said it in jest.” His brows arched high and Gylledra shook her head.

“No.” She whispered and pressed a light kiss to his lips. “I have never loved another with my body…or my heart.”

“Never?” He breathed, kissing her neck and she could feel his tusks and his breath, hot on her skin as she inhaled deeply, letting it out slowly.

“Never. But after tonight, I will have done both, I think.” She kissed him hard, and Varok gripped her hips, pulling her against him. He was straining beneath the leather of his trousers, she could feel him. Gylledra pulled back and watching his eyes, unbuckled her jacket, shrugging out of it and did the same with her vest, then untucked her shirt, pulling it off over her head without hesitation. He leaned forward, kissing her breasts and her neck, but she pulled back again and got to her feet. Varok watched in anticipation as she unlaced her boots and pulled them off one at a time. Her fingers moved to her belt buckle, unfastening it then tugging the laces of her fly. Finally, she slid the leather leggings down and stepped out of them.

“Beautiful.” He breathed and Gylledra approached, standing over him again but when she moved to sit, he grabbed her hips, stopping her, looking up from almost between her thighs.

“What…” Before she could ask the rest of the question, his mouth was on her and she gave a gasp of surprise, gripping fistfuls of his hair, but didn’t pull away. Suddenly she felt his tongue as he kissed her there and her breath caught.

She yelped again when he scooped one of her legs up, putting it over his shoulder, giving himself better access to her. His mouth pressed tighter against her and she groaned, the sensation intensifying. Her hips moved involuntarily with the strokes of his tongue as something seemed to be coiling inside her, something she was inching closer to, but she had never felt anything like it before. She knew _what_ it was…but then it suddenly hit her, and she didn’t know what anything was at all, every muscle in her body contracting as a glorious spasm tore through her. She cried out, unable to stop herself as she clung to him. It slowly ebbed away, and her legs gave out. Varok lowered her to straddle him once more.

Gylledra saw his lips and chin gleamed with her wetness and she reached up to lightly touch his lower lip.

“I have wondered every day since I saw you what you must taste like.” He told her.

“And?” She wiped herself off his chin.

“If I die never tasting anything else, I will die happy.” He smirked and she kissed him, tasting her own salty sweetness on his lips. He let out a shuddering breath, knowing that’s what she had done, and his fingers flew over the buckles and straps that held on his bracers and belt, tossing them aside. Gylledra moved to kneel beside him as he removed his boots. When his hands went to his waist, she stopped him.

“Lie back.” She told him quietly and he arched one brow but complied, lying down in the long, soft grass. She straddled his thighs and could plainly see the rigid outline of him pressing up against his fly. She let her hands slide over him as she moved to untie the laces. Varok inhaled sharply, watching her as she pulled the ties. Finally, it was loosened, and he lifted up to let her slide the pants down his thick, muscled thighs.

Gylledra couldn’t help staring as he sprung free, but she removed that last article of clothing, gazing at the broad expanse of his bare chest, taking in the sight of his full nakedness. She could not think of anything she’d ever seen that she thought was as beautiful as he was. She leaned down, pressed a kiss to one thigh, then another as she moved up, inching her way north until her mouth was very near him. His breath came faster and curious, Gylledra ran her tongue up the length of him.

“No!” He gasped suddenly and she pulled back at once. “I can barely hold back as it is, Gylledra.” He was practically panting. “Not that, not yet, it will undo me…”

“Okay.” She smiled. “What would you have me do?”

“Come here.” She moved up so that he could kiss her again, but he stopped. “Sit up.” He told her, and she did. He reached up and let his fingers trail down between her breasts, down her belly and between her thighs before one finger butted up against her wetness. Gylledra stared at him, her breath shallow and rapid then he slipped one finger inside her. She gasped, her hands on his chest as he moved slowly.

“I…you…” She muttered incoherently.

“If it hurts, you must tell me at once.” Varok replied and she blinked at him, unable to string a sentence together, but he took his hand away, gripping her hip, holding himself in the other hand.

“Yes.” She breathed before he had the chance to ask if he was ready and she felt him pressing against her. Gylledra lowered her hips as he slipped inside her very slowly. Warmth bloomed at her center, expanding outward as she sat back, taking him in bit by bit.

The sensation at first was strange…foreign and full, tight, but not painful. Varok’s mouth was open as he watched her, his muscles taut as he fought to stay still. He held her hips and withdrew suddenly then filled her again and she cried out as she clenched around him. He moaned low in his throat but moved again and she could barely breathe, but he kissed her. Varok turned over then, Gylledra beneath him now and she gripped his arms as he held himself up.

“Are you alright?” He panted. She nodded in reply then looked down between their bodies and she saw him inside her and she gasped, watching him. “I…I cannot stop now…” He growled through clenched teeth, his hips moving, jarring her, and she bowed up beneath him, all of it overwhelmed her as her body seemed to shatter again, her voice echoing in the darkness around them. Varok drove into her, harder and faster as the sensation crashed over her again and again. It was too much and not enough all at once and Gylledra watched his face contort with pleasure. The cry of his completion tore from him almost violently as he pressed as deep inside her as he could the final few times.

They were both breathing hard, their bodies covered in a sheen of sweat as Varok slumped to one side to keep from crushing Gylledra. She clung to him though, her eyes closed, strands of hair plastered against her face as her cheek pressed to his chest.

“Did I hurt you?” She asked, unable to keep from grinning as he chuckled. “Not bad for your first time, orc.” She went on and his chuckling turned to laughter. “I suppose practice will make perfect.” She opened her eyes, pulling back to look at him.

“I will try harder then, next time.” He grinned, holding her close.

Gylledra felt as though she was finally exactly where she wanted to be. True, it was in a patch of woods naked in the grass, but she was with Varok. She would be sore in the morning, for all her experience fighting for so long, she’d never used her muscles quite like that. Though she was well-pleased and still in a state of languid satisfaction, she ached for more…to be so close to him again that they were one.

She wriggled up a bit and kissed him, it was light at first, she hadn’t meant to rile him up again, but her body seemed to do as it would without her input, and it was not long before his tongue invaded her mouth as he gripped a fistful of her hair.

“Again?” He breathed.

“Yes…though I fear we’ve made a terrible mistake.” Gylledra pressed against him, kissing his neck. She could feel him growing hard again.

“Mistake?” He murmured then inhaled sharply as she took his earlobe between her teeth.

“Mmhm…because what if this desire to feel you move inside me never ceases?” She panted and he put her on her back, her head cushioned beneath his forearm as his amber gaze seemed to warm her. Varok hooked his other arm beneath her knee, pulling it up and opening her wide for him. His breath was coming faster, and he shifted just a bit then in one fluid motion thrust forward hard, sheathing himself in her to the hilt. Gylledra cried out, throwing her head back, gasping for breath.

“Then I will come into you…again and again…” He moved and her nails bit into his flesh. “And I will never stop…until my body breaks and I can rise no more.”

 

* * *

 

The camp had all gone to sleep when Gylledra and Varok finally made their way back. The warriors on watch politely pretended not to notice their quiet return and they slipped into the crude tent that served as Varok’s quarters. They bedded down and within moments, she was on the precipice of unconsciousness as he curled around her, holding her so her back pressed to his chest.

“You are well-loved, Gylledra.” He whispered. “For, I do love you.” His words startled her back to consciousness, though for just a moment, and she looked over her shoulder.

“And I, you.” She replied just as softly. He kissed her and they drifted off to sleep.

 

Gylledra’s dreams were troubled as they often were before battling the Legion. Memories of past terrors haunted her, things she had endured…things she had forced others to endure. She woke before dawn, before any others had risen and she didn’t try to go back to sleep, instead relishing the quiet, and the warmth of being wrapped in Varok’s embrace.

As she lay in the quiet darkness, she heard some shuffling in the distance, a quiet _oof_ then what sounded like enjoyment. Her eyes widened and she listened harder, catching various sounds of that nature coming from different directions. It made sense, in the last quiet moments before a battle, that people would partake in the act of mating…or lovemaking…whatever they called it. Many would die, and this was their last opportunity. Though, listening roused in her too that desire.

Varok kissed the back of her neck and Gylledra flinched slightly, she hadn’t even been aware he was awake, but his hand slid down her belly and between her legs and she had to stifle a groan. Apparently, he could hear the others too and was stirred. She could feel him now, pressing against her backside so she shifted onto her stomach and he moved over her, pulling up her shirt, the sole article of clothing she wore. Varok raised her hips and entered her slowly, moving with a gentleness that their urgent, fiery need didn’t have the night before. Despite the leisurely pace, Gylledra’s heart was hammering faster in her chest as he moved, and the sound of his breath came faster.

“Please…do not die out there today…” She murmured, pressing hard against him as he buried himself so deeply in her flesh. But then he withdrew, turning her over before it could truly register, and was inside her again, his body heavy on top of her. She took his face between her hands, kissing him and just a bit, his pace increased as they both began approaching the peak they were climbing to.

“I would ask the same of you.” He replied.

 

No one seemed to care when Gylledra emerged from Varok’s tent as the sun’s first rays stretched over the horizon. Likely they would have been more surprised if she had not and while part of her had feared perhaps ribald remarks or winking or some such thing…everything was, to her relief, business as usual. She was well aware of how irregular it was for an orc to have even a casual dalliance with a non-orc, let alone seek to have a non-orc mate. If there was dissent about the matter, Gylledra didn’t think she nor Varok would hear of it because of how well-respected he was, and after all, she _had_ nearly died for them. They could not have children, so she supposed they could not begrudge them their love.

She sat by the fire quietly and in a small shimmer of arcane, a thick roll appeared in her hand. It was the only thing that would quell the ache she felt throughout the entirety of her body. Though she could not fathom _how_ she had come to feel so stiff when she had always been so strong. But, being honest with herself, indeed she had never used her muscles as she now had.

“You’re eating arcane food…?” Nasorya sat down and frowned a little. Gylledra gave her a sidelong look, finishing her bite.

“Yes. I would prefer to go into this battle without the hindrance of sore muscles.” She replied.

“Sore.” Nasorya scoffed. “You haven’t been sore in thou—” She halted, eyes growing round. “Silly me…of course you’re sore.” She giggled suddenly and scooted closer. “So…”

“No, Nasorya.” Gylledra pointedly avoided looking at her, to no avail as she scooted closer still, pressed tightly against her side.

“So.” She said again, but more quietly and Gylledra sighed.

“No, we did no hunting at all whatsoever. Yes, I am and was _well-loved_. And now, I presume, we are whatever the orc equivalent of _together_ is. Satisfied?”

“Not even a little, though you obviously are.” Nasorya grinned. Gylledra smiled and shook her head a little, giving a sigh. Really she couldn’t even be annoyed.

“Ready yourself, Nasorya…we fight demons again this day.”


	8. Chapter 8

Gylledra finished her meager breakfast and found Varok alone in his tent. He seemed to be having a small issue with the strap on his right pauldron. Without a word, she approached, putting her hand on his to stop him and he let go. She released the strap then pulled it tight, settling it into place to buckle, then got to work on the others. He let her do it, watching her, both of them quiet for a long time. They’d lived these moments before battle countless times, both had seen the cost of what was to come.

“This will not be an easy battle.” Her voice was soft, but calm and unwavering. She felt no fear going into the foray, she would fight, and she might die, but that had always been the reality of her existence.

“Are they ever?”

“Some are won more quickly than others…none are easy to fight.” His armor would stay in place now for sure, Gylledra was well versed in the matter after all. Varok moved his shoulders a little, with a satisfied nod. After giving the strap on his chest a final tug, she let her hands lie at his waist. “Though the circumstances are terrible, it will be an honor to fight beside the Horde.”

“We are fortunate to have you on our side.” He tilted her chin upward a little. “Though, I cannot imagine any circumstance of war is not terrible.”

“It would be less terrible if it was not the Warsong we were marching out to face this morning.” She gave a shrug and he nodded, a thoughtful look on his face.

“That is a valid point.” He replied. She wanted to tell him not to watch for her, not to put himself at any unnecessary risk for her sake, because she had been in battles since before his ancestors were born. But she knew orcs were not sentimental as other races might be. Their women fought beside them as fierce and terrifying as any male.

“Do not think too lowly of me when you see what I truly am in the face of my enemy.” She looked down and he gathered her into his embrace.

“I have seen you in the face of adversity and in the face of enemies. In all cases you acted in the interest of preserving the Horde, whatever you may think you are, it will not frighten me.” He raised her chin again, this time kissing her.

“Lord Saurfang, there…” The voice halted as the orc who entered the tent unbidden froze. Gylledra half expected Varok to drop her, but instead he pulled back gently, eyes on hers before turning to the intruder. Secret delight swept through her, he wasn’t ashamed having been caught with her…she hadn’t even realized she was concerned about it. She blinked away the haze Varok’s embrace left her in, wondering how he always managed to appear so clear headed.

“Well?” He barked, impatiently. The orc, looking uncomfortable, snapped to attention.

“Scouts report the Warsong are gathering and that they know we have come, Lord Saurfang.” The report effectively swept aside all distraction from Gylledra’s fuzzy brain at once, knowing it was already time to fight.

“We will move at once.” Varok turned to her, which was enough to let the orc know he was dismissed and he departed without delay. “Time to go.”

“Don’t die.” She smiled and gave his hand a squeeze before darting out of the tent.

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

Saurfang followed Gylledra outside where the orcs were getting ready, falling into rank, and moving into position. She changed before his eyes as she strode away, her armor materializing out of nowhere as her eyes turned black, the irises shining bright with arcane power. The shimmering markings on her skin had grown dark as well and she called out to a couple orcs she’d grown friendly with and they nodded to whatever she had said.

“My axe hungers for blood, brother!” Broxigar slapped Saurfang on the back, grinning.

“I’ve no doubt it will be sated today.” He replied.

There was a light breeze, but the air felt heavy and seemed to even taste of the impending violence, and it stank of fel. He gave his formation orders, taking in the surroundings. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed movement above and saw Nasorya crouched on a ledge, watching over them with a strange intensity, her eyes flicking back and forth like a twitchy, purple-haired sentry.

“We must push them back enough that I can get to Grom.” Thrall came up beside him. “I believe we have the means to purge the fel at least from him, we will go from there…”

“We will thin them out and make the way clearer to pass.” Saurfang agreed. “To the front!”

 

The fel orcs were in formation…a disarrayed, hectic, and fel-madness fueled formation. Saurfang would take no pleasure in this battle, not when it was his own kind he would cut down.

“Gylledra.” Thrall called to her and she turned. “You have been at war with these forces for millennia. What can you say to us so we will be prepared?” She looked at him for a long moment and gave a nod. She stepped out front, her presence somehow seeming even bigger than it usually was. She was no meek creature to begin with, war was what she knew, it was what she _did_. Saurfang could see she was a natural born leader, there was something about her that even he felt driven to follow her into battle. She looked to be searching the sky for a brief moment before turning to address the army she had agreed to fight beside.

“The orcs who were once your brethren are not all you will face today.” She called, and to Saurfang’s surprise, her voice commanded their attention as silence fell across the ranks. “Facing demons in battle is unlike facing any enemy you may have known before.” She continued, her voice carrying across them. “You will hear whispers that you must shut out, you will face their cleverness and their aptness in battle. They _are_ strong; you know what they can do, they took your home from you, and now they seek to take this one too. They will unleash things upon it like you have never seen nor imagined; _Infernals_ will rain down from the sky engulfed in fel fire. The sky _itself_ will burn.” The Horde listened to her words; the orcs were familiar with demons, but had not gone to war with them like this before. “But they can be beaten. If it bleeds, you can kill it. Your blades will still sink into their flesh and THEY WILL FALL!” A roar erupted as orcs, trolls, and tauren alike raised their weapons. The humans and their leader listened too, to her speech. “Whatever has come before this day, no longer matters.” She looked at the humans in particular. “You all know well that this world will perish if we do not all fight for it together.”

An enormous shadow passed overhead, quieting them; many of the army looked up at once and Saurfang barely had time to register what was happening. The huge, winged creature landed hard on the ground, behind Gylledra, shaking the earth itself, and sent up a cloud of dust. She didn’t even flinch. A dragon…she had…a _dragon_. It was not some ethereal conjured thing like before. The roar it let out would have made even the bravest of orcs think twice, had it been a creature they were set to face. The dragon was black, its mouth, full of razor sharp teeth, was big enough to eat ten orcs at once. It eyed them with a flaming, violet glare, giving a snort and a shake, the wind of its wings blew more dust and Saurfang squinted a little. Taking a deep breath, the dragon’s chest expanded, and a purple glow seemed to emit from beneath and around its scales. It shot a pillar of flame skyward and in the distance, their enemies might have halted for just a moment. Even a fel-crazed orc had the sense to be wary of a dragon. Gylledra said before that the demons knew her, and if it was true, and this was how she fought… _with a dragon_ , then they would know that she was there.

“I leave it to you to lead the march, Warchief.” Gylledra told Thrall then turned with a nod as her helm appeared in place. “Lord Saurfang.” He could not see her smiling behind the helm, but he was certain that she was.

Effortlessly, she climbed the dragon’s back and with a few flaps of its wings, it was in the air again. Every face was skyward, staring after her as the huge beast spread its wings, spiraling upward and disappearing into the clouds. Thrall turned to Saurfang, the question on his face.

“I did not know about the dragon.” Saurfang told the Warchief. “But she _would_ have a fucking dragon, wouldn’t she?”

“But where did it come from?” Thrall looked back to the sky. Saurfang frowned, he had wondered that too as the giant purple orbs of its eyes had…he stopped and whirled around, looking to the cliff faces. He knew then where the dragon had come from, Gylledra hadn’t been _keeping_ it anywhere; _she_ had been there _all along!_ “What is it?” Thrall frowned.

“It is Nasorya!” Saurfang could hardly believe it himself. “She is the dragon.” Thrall was not easy to surprise or shock, and his mouth fell open. He closed it quickly, a smile tugging up one side of his mouth as he gave a nod.

“I feel better about the odds now.” Thrall told Saurfang.

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

From the air, it was a lot easier to see what was happening. Before the armies could clash, Gylledra got a lay of the land. The battlefield was flat, and the Horde marched across it as the red fel orcs screamed and banged their axes against their armor. They were fewer in number but where one orc may have taken down another, it would require four or five to bring down one of these monsters. It pained her, knowing that they were merely tools, that inside were the orcs that thirsted for battle and honor but had no control any longer.

Below, the armies clashed violently, the human Alliance holding the line as Horde troops pushed through. Gylledra kept watch for the demons she _knew_ were coming and when the sky turned green, alight with fel fire, she knew the time had come.

The infernals began to fall like great green meteors and Nasorya swooped, snatching one out of the air and breaking it apart, and then another…and another. Any they could stop from reaching the ground would save the lives of their warriors. Doomguards and felhounds seemed to pour forth from the forests, filtering in between the fel orcs. Gylledra readied herself, letting the shadow course through her unchecked and the arcane acted as a catalyst. The power felt purer and stronger than it ever had, and she rose to her feet on Nasorya’s back.

Gylledra leapt from the dragon as she had done so many times before, hurtling toward the ground in a streak of arcane surrounded by black smoke that seemed to absorb light. The earth cracked at her point of impact in the midst of the demons and fel orcs. They were thrown back, the cracks glowing bright as the shadow poured from her. The orcs did not know her, and they rushed forward without hesitation but as they stepped across the shattered ground they were torn apart by the arcane radiating from beneath their feet. The demons _did_ know Gylledra, and she had killed enough of them that for perhaps only a heartbeat, they hesitated.

As the demons roared their cries for her doom, her blades appeared in her hands and she cut them down with a ferocity born from hate. That hatred fed the shadow and the more she embraced it, the stronger she became. The shadow billowed off her like black, smoky tendrils and it clung to the demons and the orcs, burning away their flesh, devouring them as only the Void could do.

“ _You know me! You know what awaits you at the end of my blades!_ ” She screamed at them in Eredun. “ _You will not awake to be remade in the nether!_ ”

Gylledra tore a path through the enemy, leaving behind her a trail of shadow and arcane that crawled up and devoured anything fueled by fel that touched it. Her heart was pounding, it was all she could hear over the din of weapons and armor as she destroyed as many as she could. Above, Nasorya still ripped the infernals from the sky and burned the ones she couldn’t reach.

She heard the telltale roaring screech of one nearby as it moved toward the forces Thrall was leading. They needed to make their way through, they needed to get to Grom Hellscream. Her blades vanished and she reached toward the ground with her clawed gauntlets, pulling upward, her arms trembling with strain as the orcs and demons in her path were physically ripped apart. Her hands became engulfed in flickering purple fire and it grew.

A vicious, animalistic cry tore from her as she hurled the fire at the infernal, her entire body engulfed in it now. The ball of fire struck off the arm of the infernal and it reeled backward. At that moment she came face to face with Thrall and grabbed him by the front of his armor, her fire inflicting no damage on him.

“Take the path I cleared, the shadow will not touch you!” She snarled, her voice metallic as though she spoke with many. His eyes were wide, but he said nothing, giving a firm nod and she released him, aware that she was close enough now to the Horde soldiers that they would see what she was. The blades were in her hands again as she ran toward the infernal. It screeched and grabbed at her with its remaining arm, but she scaled it, driving both blades into its neck as it roared in pain. She twisted the blades and the glowing fel flickered for a moment, flashing purple before its life faded and the construct crumbled.

Demons knew that facing her meant a permanent end, their essence would not return to the Twisting Nether to be reborn in flesh again, they would go to a special hell of her own devising, awaiting their final destruction. Some she had let wait for centuries, not knowing what moment would be their last, or if they were damned to suffer there at her leisure.

The battlefield was teeming with demons, there seemed no end to them, as was typical for these battles. They won by sheer intimidation oftentimes, the appearance of outnumbering the defending army a hundred to one. They were demons, a fair bit of their numbers were illusion; they used this method to determine how many it would take to overcome the indigenous armies of the worlds they came to destroy.

Gylledra took down as many as she could, she needed to push herself as she realized this was a fight she had never engaged in before…former allies under the control of the Legion. It was a new pain that grew in her to drive her blades into the hearts of orcs she knew. Their red, demon blood-crazed eyes wide with shock, as the red faded away with their life. It was the only way though, until the demon whose blood they drank was dead, they would never be themselves, they would never be free. The Legion had not counted on the orcs regaining their strength and will to live, or their determination to have a home free of the wretched fel.

The Warsong and demons were dropping in number and Thrall made a final push to make it through to Grom, his hammer swinging as stray demons ran at him. It was the instant Gylledra let out a breath of relief, that she was struck hard from behind and the wind was knocked out of her as she hit the ground. She rolled over, still disoriented, in time to dodge the heavy blade of a wrathguard. There was nowhere to go, however, as he raised the other sword to bring it down on her. Before he even reached the apex of his swing, a huge axe was imbedded in his chest and Gylledra quickly scrambled to her feet.

“Good timing.” She commented as Varok pulled his axe out of the dead demon. Another rose behind him but Gylledra hit it with a blast of void. It struck the demon in the chest and it shrieked, cursing at her in Eredun, as it began to collapse inward on itself.

“Likewise.” Varok snorted.

 

* * *

 

The front line held as Thrall got to Grom and with Jaina’s assistance they purged the fel from him. The stink of Mannoroth stung Gylledra’s nose, it permeated even the air it seemed. She had encountered him before and realized it was _his_ blood that had cursed the orcs. The battle around her seemed to swirl into a blur, axes and armor and fire…she screamed at them to hold the line as she cast liquid fire into the enemy, clinging to their bodies, driving them back.

The explosion shook the ground beneath their feet and at once the demons began to scatter. They retreated, leaving the Warsong behind, but something was wrong, they weren’t fighting anymore…none of them were. The fel orcs were fel no longer, the red fading, returning them to the green they were before, the fel-crazed glow in their eyes was gone, but they stood, some wavering, others looking delighted. Gylledra realized then that they were…free. The demon had been slain…Mannoroth was dead and her helm vanished as she took a deep breath of fresh air.

“What have I done?” An orc murmured to himself beside her and she turned to him as he dropped his axe and looked at his hands, his face twisted as though in pain. “The innocent…” She gasped, her heart slamming in her chest, they were free…but what was left of the blood curse kept them from truly knowing with perfect clarity what they had done all those years ago.

She was running before she even realized it, at full speed, shoving orcs out of her way, vaguely aware that she called out Varok’s name. Her own voice sounded distant, drown out by her heartbeat as she searched for him. Far ahead, in a gap, she saw him kneeling in the dirt, his axe on the ground and like that other orc, he stared at his hands, his face contorting with grief and regret. She knew exactly what he was doing, he was reliving every innocent life he took, every slain child of Shattrath, every unarmed human he’d sunk his blade into in Stormwind. She knew these things because she had seen them herself in his memories when he pulled her from the abyss. She knew these things because she too had slain countless innocents under the guise of righteousness. Entire populations fell at her hand and for thousands of years afterward she did exactly as he was doing, reliving every kill, remembering the fear on their faces, hearing their screams as they died.

There was only the sound of her breath then as she ran, every footfall on the soil seemed to stick with her somehow and as she approached, she dove down onto her knees, the plate of her armor skidding through the dirt as she reached up and grabbed him, taking his face between her hands, raising his head so that his eyes met hers. The pain in them struck her like a blade, and he put his hands over his middle, shaking his head, though no words would come.

“I know.” She told him. “I know it, Varok.” The agony gripped him; it tortured him, just as it had tortured her for thousands of years before someone helped her like she knew she must help him. Otherwise, he would collapse upon the pain, it would consume and destroy him.

“…children.” He whispered finally. “I knew…but not like this…”

“I know.” She said again, tears on her cheeks. “You must listen to me though.” He stared and she saw the defeat creeping up in him, hope fading and the knife in her twisted. “You did those things, but it was not you that did them. It was Mannoroth.”

“It _was_ me…and I loved it…” Disgust twisted his face but she held onto him.

“No. It was not. They infected your mind and your body, it was not you. Without the blood, you would have never made those choices.” She went on. “It was not you.”

“Yet I must live with it, I must remember doing those things, breaking their bodies upon my axe, burning them alive…”

“Yes. You must. Just as I do.” She whispered, leaning close. “I have never forgotten, just as you will never forget. And in the dark sometimes…you will see them…and you will break all over again.”

“I cannot think I am worthy of living after such deplorable dishonor…” Varok shook his head, taking a deep shuddering breath as his eyes turned to where his axe lay.

“No!” Gylledra hissed, pulling his face to look at her again. “You must never let it take you there. You are stronger than that.”

“Am I?” He tried to pull away from her. “Do not touch me, I don’t deserve you or your comfort…” He growled, but she did not let go.

“ _I_ decide who is worthy of me.” She told him, firmly. “There is greatness in you yet. It is _my_ choice help you with this burden, Varok.”

“It is _my_ burden to carry.” He shook his head.

“Then let me walk beside you while you carry it.” She ran her fingers back through his silver hair and his shoulders slumped, hanging his head. The world around them had fallen away, she knew now was the critical time, he needed to desire life, to keep going. Nothing else mattered.

“I cannot see how you can excuse…”

“I do _not_ excuse it.” She cut him off, and he looked up again, surprised. “No more than I excuse myself for the populations I annihilated, that I _did_ choose to do of my own free will.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We have done… _terrible_ things…and we live on with the memory of them for a reason.”

“Punishment?”

“Atonement.” Gylledra’s own heart felt as though it bled, the shameful memories as clear in her mind as though they had been only days before, not millennia. “Nothing erases what happened or the blade of regret that still turns in the wound…but we live on and in that we must do what we can to fight for the lives of the innocent _now_. No good is wrought by crawling into a hole to die. We are still strong, there is good we can still do.” He let out a long breath but nodded.

“You have lived with this pain for…thousands of years.” Varok took another deep breath and she saw it, the spark she was searching for, the decision he’d just made…to live.

“I have…and every day since then I have pledged myself to honor, to defending those who cannot defend themselves, to keeping safe the innocence of anyone I can.”

“I have earned this suffering.” He winced, but moved to stand up and so did she. He picked up his axe and for the first time looked around him. There were many different reactions to this freedom, some were like his, others who had not done as he had, were happy.

“As have I.” Gylledra watched his eyes closely. “You will not come to terms with it in a day or even a year. But you must know that while you live, you can serve your people, protect them and ensure no one does to them what was done to you.”

“You said someone helped you…who was it?” He asked her.

“It was Nasorya. I saved her from monsters who were torturing her…and she saved me from the monster that was torturing me.” She told him. “I had gone to a place I thought was devoid of everything, convinced I would let myself waste away there and die as horribly as I could, as I deserved. But it was not an empty place and she told me that if I could cease my self-pity party long enough to save her, then I could work up the gumption to save myself and become something greater than my pain.”

“That does sound like her.” He nodded.

“Indeed, and I meant to leave her there as she was very annoyingly right, of course. But she followed me until I wanted her company…and never left me since.” Gylledra wiped hastily at her cheeks. She was not one for tears, but in this matter, her emotions flowed strongly enough that she was moved. Varok put an arm around her, his face still drawn, but at least he was not going to fall upon his own axe blade now.

“She’s a dragon.” He murmured, glancing around, as though looking for her.

“Oh, you noticed.” She looked at him, almost smiling, one side nearly turning up.

“Mmhm. The horns make sense now.” If he could make a joke…even a very small one, there was hope that like her, he would survive.

 

* * *

 

Grommash Hellscream had sacrificed his life to free his people of Mannoroth’s blood curse, and in doing so regained all his honor amongst them. The armies had begun to tend to their wounded and dead. Gylledra took stock of Varok’s wounds, which were mild, no more than abrasions and bruising, nothing that was cause for concern as she washed away the dried almost-black blood from him. She was listening though, to the conversations around her and the members of the Warsong spoke of fighting fierce elves in the forests they were logging.

“A great horned creature, part elf, part animal, it fought for them and we killed it. It had a tree branch for an arm, but commanded the trees.” One of them went on. Gylledra’s mouth went dry and she clenched her jaw.

“What is it?” Varok whispered. She replied to him in Shalassian.

“He is speaking of…my people…or the elves who once were my people…and they…I cannot believe…they killed Cenarius.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He was almost a god to the night elves, the druids amongst them worshipped him.” Gylledra shook her head, closing her eyes. “He was powerful, a great ally who surly would have been beneficial in the coming battles…”

“I am sorry.” He told her. “The night elves…” He frowned.

“They survived the sundering it seems. It is good to hear, but now the Horde has undoubtedly made a fierce and powerful enemy of them by killing Cenarius. Such a thing is unforgivable.” She explained.

“Would you return to the elves?”

“My place is not with them.” She gave him a pointed look. “It hasn’t been for a very long time. I’ve got bigger responsibilities now.”

“I think your place is here now.” Varok’s voice was low.

“With the Horde?”

“With me.”

 

* * *

 

Thrall and the human mage were summoned to a grove deep within the Night Elf territory of Mt. Hyjal. Gylledra hadn’t seen any of them yet, but didn’t doubt they’d seen her. She hadn’t even known that any Elves survived outside of Suramar until coming here to Kalimdor where they began defending the trees being logged by the Warsong in Ashenvale. It made her feel strangely anxious, the possibility of seeing people she knew who had been her friends or fought alongside her all those years ago.

In the darkness, Gylledra slipped away from the camp, making her way silently through the forest toward the Night Elves’ current base of operations. The moon seemed unusually bright, lighting the way clearly for her and she could feel many sets of eyes that followed her progress. The Sentinels, she’d heard them called, the elite military force of Night Elves that had taken down quite a few orcs with little trouble.

In a clearing ahead, basking in the light of the moon, was a familiar form, one she had not seen in ten thousand years, but it still felt somehow like it had not been that long. Gylledra had been careful to approach without weapons or armor, dressed in her simple leathers. Tyrande turned her head, looking completely unsurprised and in that moment, Gylledra was attacked. She impossibly snatched an arrow out of the air that was shot at her and as the figure ran forward, she disarmed the sentinel, relieving her of her bow, quiver, and blades. Gylledra caught an elbow to the face but managed to incapacitate her opponent, her arms twisted behind her back. They were both breathing hard.

“I wondered if you’d come.” Tyrande greeted. She wasn’t particularly warm, nor was she cold, though, toward Gylledra. She was wary, understandably so. Gylledra released the sentinel, getting to her feet and brushing off her clothes.

“Yet you still sent your guard after me.”

“You have taken up with the green outlandish monsters, which I am having some trouble understanding.” Tyrande explained.

“Fortunately, I do not expect you to understand.” Gylledra told her.

“So, it did not suit you to remain safe behind the barrier in Suramar?”

“Had I known they planned to shield the city I would not have gone. I _wanted_ to fight.”

“Yes, I know. It was never like you to hide from anything.” The priestess let out a long breath. “I know what was done to your family…”

“We all lost so much in that war.” Gylledra remained alert. The sentinel who had attacked her had vanished again into the woods but she did not doubt that they still watched.

“The arcane has changed you. You have embraced it…a volatile and addictive magic…”

“Yet you can see plainly that I have not sought power for myself, instead fighting for this world and _all_ its inhabitants.” Gylledra folded her arms.

“I am still curious that you came to be amongst the _orcs_.” The way Tyrande said the word was as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. “More curious yet that one followed you here.” Gylledra knew, of course, that Varok was lurking in the woods, though she hadn’t let on. He was a warrior, not a rogue. He could be stealthy, but he could not make himself entirely unseen.

“Yes…he is important to me.” She replied, a small smile on her lips. “Returning to Azeroth has been a very interesting and….unexpected experience. I didn’t know what I would find, or if there would be much to return to at all outside of Suramar.”

“You have a place amongst us, Gylledra…if…”

“If I give up the arcane.” Gylledra finished for her. Tyrande nodded slowly. “You would want me also to give up the Void magic I wield as well, since you likely regard that with higher disdain than you feel even for the arcane.”

“The arcane is a corruptive force that led our world to be shattered into fragments.” Her old friend gave a small shrug.

“I do not fault you for your views, I believe any power is dangerous in the wrong hands. While I appreciate the token offer…we both know I will never give it up when it’s the greatest means I have against the Legion.” It _was_ a bit more than an empty gesture, Gylledra knew that if she truly renounced use of magic, the Night Elves would welcome her into the fold. Even if she _had_ been willing to relinquish her power, she had no desire to be amongst them.

“Nevertheless, the offer stands.”

“Even though my heart beats for an orc?” The question hit its mark and Gylledra watched Tyrande clench her jaw, fighting to keep her face impassive. “I fight for this world to live, not for one faction or another. I will stand beside any and all who are willing to oppose the Legion…and I will stand against any who embrace it.” The quietness of the forest stretched between them for a long moment before Tyrande nodded.

“I understand…whether I agree with your choices or not is irrelevant, I feel confident though, that _you_ are not our enemy.” She said at last. “At this moment, none of us are enemies, as it will take all of us to being down the demons.”

 

Gylledra wasn’t entirely sure she knew how she felt about her conversation with Tyrande. The nostalgia she had expected didn’t rear its head, and it made her wonder about whether she’d ever felt truly accepted by the Night Elves even before the Legion first invaded. She certainly hadn’t been made to feel very welcome amongst the Nightborne when the shield came down and she argued with Elisande herself. They’d thought only of themselves, the outside world could have been burnt to ash along with every other living creature and they didn’t care.

It had been a relief to learn that while the land was now in pieces, the pieces were full of life, Azeroth was much more than Gylledra could have imagined. Despite not seeing very much of it so far, she felt fiercely loyal to the world that was her home and all the people who lived there.


	9. Chapter 9

Whether it was the knowledge of impending battle or the battle itself that hung heavy in the air, Gylledra did not know. But it was there, it was almost tangible, a thing she wanted to recoil from but never would; she had a responsibility.

Varok was waiting a short distance away in the shadows under the trees. She hadn’t asked him to come with her, but she let him see her sneak away knowing he would follow. She let out a long breath, feeling strange after speaking to Tyrande, after being forced to tussle with a Sentinel.

“Was she a friend?”

“Once upon a time, perhaps. There was much less to say than I had expected.” She told him. “It is perhaps somewhat sad, that we are so very different now…I felt no connection…no bond that I thought might still be there since we had known each other for so long.”

“I am sorry.” He said quietly, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t be. It was what I needed to know, if there was anything left between what my people have become and what we once were. After that, I long for the quietness.” Gylledra gave a sad smile and shook her head but let out a sharp breath, wanting to change the subject. “After everything that happened today, doesn’t Thrall need you at the camp?” Varok frowned then.

“I thought that I _was_ where I’m needed.” He replied.

“I cannot see how my needs would outweigh those of your people…” She squirmed internally, not really knowing what she needed, but knowing what she wanted but _not_ knowing how to achieve it. She wanted to be with him, to be his partner, his other half. She could see the confusion on his face, the consternation at her odd behavior.

“Gylledra…” He sighed and took her by the shoulders. “We’ve been together, we’ve said…I thought you wanted…”

“I do…”

“But?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Varok. I can pretend until something is real…and I think that now this…is real.” She watched his eyes, amber even at night.

“It is.” He agreed.

“And…it is frightening.”

“Why is that?” Varok frowned then.

“Because before…I had nothing to lose. I could fight in a battle and not think about who was dying, I only had to think of myself.” She told him. “Now…I have everything to lose. My world, my people…my heart.”

“Having something to lose makes a war worth fighting. It drives you harder, you strike truer, and victory is sweeter.” He replied.

“Yes, I know.” It was strange and disconcerting to experience the unfamiliar sensation of fear…the concern that she could lose Varok, that the world that was her home could be destroyed…there were so many more things that mattered now than even mere months before. She wasn’t sure she liked it, but now there was nothing to be done about it.

“Let’s go.” He told her softly, taking her hand and leading her into the woods. Gylledra was acutely aware that they were not headed back toward the camp, but made no complaint. In the absence of conversation, they walked and heard only the sounds of their footsteps and the nocturnal animals stirring. There were patches of moonlight that guided the way. They were still under the unrelenting watch of the Sentinels, of course.

Ahead was the sound of water and as they drew nearer to it, steam was visible, wafting upward into the night. There was a creek that cascaded into a grotto, the moonlight streaming in through ceiling holes that had collapsed centuries or even millennia before. The waterfall spilled into a large, deep pool before the creek continued down a low passage. There were separate pools, from which the steam was rising and Gylledra guessed that there must be volcanic activity somewhere beneath the mountain.

Velvety moss and thick, soft grass covered the floor and she followed Varok down a narrow pathway, carefully picking her way into the grotto itself. It was beautiful and peaceful; in those moments, it was easy to forget the war they were fighting, which is something Gylledra was in great need of just then. She closed her eyes as Varok wrapped his arms around her from behind.

She knew both their minds weighed heavily with the darkness of past and present and that any quietness they might find would be hard won. Opening her eyes, she looked at the pools, listening to the water. A tree had even grown in there, stretching up through the openings. Gylledra reached toward it with a small gesture and soft blue lights began to glow in its branches.

“Is this quiet enough?” He asked softly. She hummed her assent, but felt the warmth at her center slowly expanding. How, she wondered, could her body long for _that_ after all that had happened? Though, when they were together, it seemed that all things faded and for a time there was nothing else in the world but them.

Varok pressed a kiss to Gylledra’s neck, his hands roaming over her breasts and she let out a shuddering breath. She was glad not to be the only one experiencing the need for physical intimacy. It was, at least, a way to escape everything for a little while.

“I think the hot pools here would soothe your aches.” She suggested, looking up at him over her shoulder. One of his eyebrows arched ever so slightly.

“Oh?”

“I suppose both our minds could use some quieting.” She went on.

“How do you propose to achieve that?” He asked, knowing precisely how. She said nothing, watching him and his hand moved down between her legs. Gylledra inhaled sharply as he gripped her, pulling her against him.

Without another backward glance, she stepped forward, beginning to undress, letting each article fall to the ground as she removed them. Behind her, she could hear him beginning to do the same and she bit her lower lip, secretly grinning. Quickly, she wrapped her braid up and fastened it, to keep from getting wet before dipping a toe in into the pool to gauge the temperature. It was hot, but tolerable, so she stepped in, slowly moving deeper.

The heat seeped into Gylledra’s strained muscles, melting away tension she didn’t even realize had been there. She managed not to groan with how good it felt. By the time she finally looked back at Varok he stood at the edge the pool, undressed in all his glory.

“What is it with us and the water?” Gylledra asked, watching him, her face flushing as she saw the state of his arousal. “The creek, the ship, the cave…now this.” He waded in and let out a deep sigh as he submerged to his chest.

“It is a powerful element.” He closed his eyes for just a moment, taking deep breaths and basking in the relaxing heat. But his eyes opened, and moving more quickly than she expected, Varok grabbed her by the waist, pulling her against him.

“Are you sure you want this? Today was…difficult.” She breathed, her mouth close to his. He moved to sit on a stone ledge, still submerged to his chest, taking her with him and without a reply, kissed her hard.

“Too much?” He asked a moment later, her lips a little swollen from his rough embrace.

“Not a bit.” Gylledra breathed. “Do you think that I am fragile?” He watched her eyes for a moment and slowly shook his head.

“Not a bit.” He replied, leaning forward to kiss her again but she didn’t let him, giving a devious sort of smile.

“I’m not made of glass…I will tell you if it is too much.”

“Do you think the Sentinels are watching?” He asked with a smirk.

“I don’t care.” At that, he gripped her hips and pulled her against him and she gasped, feeling the hard ridge slide against her sensitive flesh. His gaze was unwavering, watching her reaction as he drew her against him again. Gylledra exhaled a shuddering breath, gripping his shoulders for leverage as she moved her hips with long, maddening strokes along the length of him. A soft, deep groan escaped Varok and through the warm, radiating sensation Gylledra experienced, she felt the thrill of knowing she gave him pleasure too.

Coherent thought and sentences vanished as he kissed her again, his hands moving over her backside and then up again. The scorching heat emanating from that point of contact became more insistent, urging for more…more… She pulled back from his kiss, breathing hard as she moved faster, vocalizing the effort through clenched teeth. More, more, more. Her eyes were squeezed shut as the urgent tension grew. It was so close…that intoxicating release, the thing her body needed from him more than it seemed to have ever needed anything.

“Yes…” Varok whispered, his hips moving upward suddenly beneath her and it shattered, her entire body clutched in a trembling, overwhelming grip that blurred anything and everything but him. Gylledra’s nails bit into his flesh and he pulled her harder against him as she cried out. When it ebbed away, she could feel her body trembling. He held her as she still grasped him, arms around his neck.

“Oh…” She breathed. Varok chuckled and she shyly met his eyes.

“Oh.” He nodded, smiling. “Are you alright?”

She nodded in reply. “You didn’t…?” He hadn’t even been inside her…

“Not yet.” His gaze darkened. _Yet_ …the word was heavy with his intent and Gylledra reached down between their bodies, wrapping her fingers around him. She watched him closely as she slid her grip down and then up again, his eyes slightly rolling back.

“Not yet…but soon.” She murmured.

“Soon enough.” He growled then his mouth savaged hers again. He hoisted her up, stepping onto the ledge he’d been sitting on and deposited her onto the soft, mossy grass.

Varok lay there beside Gylledra on his side, but leaned over, his mouth on hers. One hand trailed down over her breasts, belly, and thighs with a feather-light touch through the water beading on her skin before his palm rested a moment on her abdomen. She couldn’t get enough of touching him, his firm, solid body, the bulge of his muscles, his face, his hair…any part she could get her hands on.

His hand moved downward between her thighs, which she parted as he slowly stroked down and up again. One long, thick finger slowly moved around the focal point of sensation as Varok looked down at her. She gasped as the tip slipped inside her, then he slowly went deeper, her eyes closed and she moaned aloud. He hummed a pleased sort of sound, withdrawing and entering again. Her hips rocked with the slow rhythm he moved with and she grabbed at him, wanting…

“…more…” The word popped out of its own volition but Varok complied without question and she gasped, writhing beneath his hand. It was happening again, and Gylledra was panting, longing for that release again. To her frustration and mild horror, he pulled away and she looked at him in question.

“How much more?” The look in his eyes was foreboding and animalistic, frightening and exciting all at once.

“Everything…” Almost before she could finish the sentence, he grabbed her wrists, pinning her down and he drove into her hard. Gylledra cried out in a mixture of pleasure and just a bit of pain…but it was glorious. He groaned through clenched teeth as he withdrew then moved inside her at an almost brutal, unrelenting pace that made it impossible for her to stay quiet.

“Are…”

“ _Do not stop!_ ” She interrupted, her body taut and already at the precipice of completion. Varok was breathing hard and she walked the line between being too overwhelmed. But this ruthless pleasure stirred in her the darkness she had embraced so long ago, the thing that made her so uniquely powerful, it hungered for whatever _too much_ was, and she loved it. She came, and the sound of her heartbeat and his breath was all she could hear as the pleasure consumed her, it permeated and wrapped itself around her…it was alive and controlled her, seeking nothing but the satisfaction which she could draw only from Varok.

The climax ebbed away like the tide, and he released her wrists, one arm scooping beneath the small of her back as he turned over. She found as that clutching force trickled away, so too did the hungry darkness that sought pain with pleasure. Her limbs were trembling, sapped of their strength and she could do little more than lie on his chest, rising and falling with his breath. He was still inside her, he wasn’t done, but she had seen in his eyes the same darkness that lived in her heart, the thing that drove them both to violence, even _this_ kind that made them claw and bite and rut like animals. It seemed to fade from his gaze and what was left was the orc she knew…and _loved_.

“Gylledra.” Varok whispered, and sat up, his arms around her. It was strange, like looking at him and _truly_ seeing him with everything else stripped away, and she took his face between her hands. The goodness in him shone like a beacon, and though he might not see or feel it, it was there. She pressed a light kiss to his lips.

“You are better than I deserve…” She whispered and he opened his mouth to protest but she put her fingers over his lips, shaking her head. “To you, I am not just a weapon.” He moved her hand and kissed her instead of speaking and when Gylledra moved her hips, he groaned quietly. She shifted, hooking her feet on his splayed thighs for leverage and slowly began to move against him, watching his face. Varok’s breath caught and she gripped his shoulders, going a little faster, a little deeper.

He kept his eyes on hers, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips as the rhythm increased, the closer her got, the more his muscles tensed as she drew him nearer and nearer to his own release. It did not matter that she was inexperienced, her body knew, and it responded to his as his breath came faster…inching him closer…her hips grinding against him. The soft moans that escaped him made her own center burn with need again. He strained and she kept going, but overcome with the need to move, he flipped Gylledra onto her back, each stroke jarring her body. She gripped his arms as he supported himself. She watched him, memorizing his face, every line, ever scar…the way he moved, how his back arched as his hips drove forward with that instinctual need to couple. Her own body moved of its own accord, her heels dug into the dirt as she lifted her hips to meet each stroke. Every sense felt heightened…

Varok’s brow drew together as he closed his eyes, giving a rough cry as he suddenly thrust hard into her, once…and then again, and a third and final time. He pressed deep inside her, shaking as she felt his pulsing release. He lowered to his elbows, the full length of his body pressed to hers and she came again, her body clenching around him as she buried her face against his neck, her hips jerking with the unexpected spasm.

“Mmm.” He hummed quietly into her ear; she was breathless. Gylledra winced a little as he withdrew, rolling onto his back a bit out of breath. She blinked, feeling dazed, an involuntary smile plastered to her face. Varok reached for her, drawing her across his chest, and rested his hands on her back. Beneath her ear, she could hear his heart still pounding. Her eyes closed as she began to relax but Varok tensed suddenly.

“What?” She murmured.

“I hurt you…” He started.

“I don’t think so, I’d have noticed, being there the whole time…” She went on, eyes still closed but he took her wrist and the pain shot up her arm, making her pull it away. She looked then, pushing herself up and saw the darkening bruises already forming. “Oh, that’s nothing…” She dismissed. He still looked guilty. Making a frustrated noise, she batted his hand away and practically sat on his chest, grabbing him by the tusks so that he looked at her. “Stop it. There is nothing to mar what we have done, are doing, and will do. I have gone to war countless times, nearly died countless time…bruising my wrists while you make my body scream is certainly nothing to pay any mind to.” He smiled then as she released him. “Besides…” with a simple gesture, strands of arcane circled the bruises and they vanished. “Good as new. How about you? I’ve got your blood under my nails.” She looked at her fingers.

“Here.” He held up his gouged forearms and she reached to fix him up as well, but he pulled back, shaking his head. “No, I think I will keep these.”

“Suit yourself, you odd orc.” She chuckled and moved off of him again, pressing cozily against his side, using his shoulder for a pillow as he held her. Only the sound of the water filled the silence as they both were no doubt reflecting on the day and on the clarity with which they both now saw their terrible pasts. Their physical activities could only push back such things for short times before reality cascaded onto them once more.

“Who was the last elf you spoke to before today?” Varok asked. Gylledra’s eyes widened, having expected him to be ruminating about his own guilt.

“Oh…um…” She blinked, still surprised by the question. “My grandfather.”

“Did he know you were leaving Suramar?”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her grandfather, T’veras Alenos, was the one person she left behind in Suramar that her heart ached at the thought of. She had loved and admired him above all others. “He…he was the only one who believed what I said. My whole life he had been the one who encouraged me, who did not balk when I said our queen was a mad, corrupt witch leading the whole of the night elf empire to inevitable destruction.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Six and a half millennia.” She whispered, not trusting her voice not to crack if she spoke louder than that. “I cared what no one else thought of me…and it was when I thought of how ashamed he would be of the things I had done that I thought I deserved to die.”

“Do you still think he would be ashamed?” Varok continued his questioning and Gylledra sat up again to look at him, wondering why he was wondering.

“Nasorya tore the self-pity from me…she forced me to see that my life was still valuable, and that if I could learn from what I had done…and if my grandfather loved me as much as I loved him, he could not be ashamed…that he would be proud of me.”

“She is much wiser than she lets on.” He replied.

“She is a dragon, she has lived tens of thousands of years, maybe more…she has seen worlds born and destroyed…lived through torture and slavery…” She looked down at her hands. “I freed her from the deepest darkness of her very long life…that _one_ act was enough to restore her faith in…everything.” Gylledra looked into Varok’s eyes as she blinked back unexpected tears. “I have to believe that if a creature like her…all innocence and wonder…can find the goodness in my shriveled, depleted heart and breathe life into me again…then perhaps I am worthy of living.” Gylledra was speaking as much to Varok as she was herself, knowing full well the extent of the grief and guilt he was subjecting himself to. “I don’t believe in fate, but I do believe our lives should not be wasted.”

“I think you are right.” He replied quietly. “Though it does not lessen the pain, I can live with it.” He sat up, taking her in his arms. “I may have died today had you not stayed my hand.”

“I saw many others like you…”

“I will help them if I can.” He pressed his forehead to hers.

 

* * *

 

 

The first pink light of dawn was barely a halo in the east when Gylledra and Varok returned to the camp. All was still silent, and he gave her hand a squeeze before they went their separate ways. She needed to speak with Nasorya and hadn’t even reached her tend when her groggy friend stepped out, yawning.

“Well, and just _where_ have you been all night?” She teased quietly. Gylledra smiled though, shaking her head.

“I spoke to Tyrande.” She replied and Nasorya’s eyes widened.

“How was that?”

“It was neither good, nor bad. She is still exactly as she has always been, and the only thing I have in common with who I was ten thousand years ago is my name.” Gylledra told her. “I was a night elf once, but now I am different from them as orcs are.”

“Wow, that…is an extreme comparison.” Nasorya gave a snort. “Was she unkind?”

“No, she even said I have a place amongst them if I wished.”

“Yeah, that’ll be the day.”

“I know where my place is now.” Gylledra smiled.

“Flat on your back, _apparently_.”

“Yes, well…I’m too tired to give adequate rebuttal.” She grinned as Nasorya tried to stifle her laughter. They sat beside the cold, extinguished fire, there was no use in trying to sleep, the sun was already cresting the horizon.

“The coming days will be unpleasant at best.” Nasorya told her, sobering.

“While part of me hoped to never have to look on the face of Archimonde again, I know I will be seeing him. Though I cannot wait until the stink of fel is clear from these lands. Azeroth needs to be finally free from the plague that is demons.” Gylledra sighed. “Though now I fight for far more than principle alone…and that makes me far more dangerous than I have ever been.”


	10. Chapter 10

Saurfang didn’t sleep, despite exhaustion; his mind would not settle and he managed to only doze a few minutes here and there. It had been a long, late night…not that he was complaining…at all. Because, well…because. He watched Gylledra as she slept peacefully, though, looking calm and innocent. The visage belied her true nature, she’d lived probably two hundred of his lifetimes and endured horrors that made his own pale in comparison. Everything about her was unexpected; meeting her on the bank of a creek, the ease he felt when talking to her, the bond they shared, how she felt in his arms, and how her touch ignited the long-dead flame inside him. He never would have believed what he felt was ever possible for him again, it wasn’t even like this _before_. The thought gave him a twinge of guilt, he shouldn’t be making comparisons.

He doubted very much his worthiness of Gylledra; he had done nothing to deserve the regard she had for him, but he knew also that if he said as much, she’d firmly remind him…again…that it was _she_ who made such determinations. The thought made him smile; no, she was not timid and would not hesitate to put him in his place. But the thing that surprised him most about her, was that she made him laugh. He could never guess what was going to fall out of her mouth next, and it was different from Nasorya’s obnoxiousness. Gylledra told the truth without a care at all for what anyone thought and for him, it made every moment with her a delight. Mostly…unless she was pointing out his own _unpleasant_ truths, of course.

It was the unspoken hope of Saurfang _and_ the rest of the Horde, that on the other side of this war, there would be a home and a life in this land. He had been at war for as far back as his memory stretched and now it was time for something else. If he could not get his warrior’s death…he would settle for peace, for not needing to drive his axe through another body. Hope was dangerous…it was a thing he had not wrestled with in a very long time, but it was one of the many things the elven woman asleep at his side had brought back to him. But now was not the time to dwell on fanciful thoughts.

When he heard the shuffling of others rising from their bedrolls, Saurfang gently nudged Gylledra. She muttered something in Shalassian that sounded very rude. After another nudge, she blinked groggily as the din of activity outside grew. Strands of hair had come undone from her usually pristine braid, and stuck out at every angle.

“How kind of you to let me sleep for _seven minutes_ , Varok.” She squinted at him a little, then sat up, rubbing her face.

“It was a couple of hours.” He smiled, folding his arms behind his head, still stretched out.

“What a terrible commander.” She told him then, through an indelicate yawn. “Lazing about…” Her gaze raked shamelessly up his naked form. “…while everyone else is hard at work.” But she couldn’t stop her smile.

“I’d wager they’re barely awake, let alone already hard at work.” He snorted. She sprawled theatrically across his chest.

“ _I_ am barely awake.”

“There is no one to blame but yourself.”

“Oh, I beg to _differ_.” She scoffed and looked up to meet his gaze, shifting so that her face was over his. “I wasn’t inside _myself_ last night.”

“Hm. True.” He chuckled and with one hand pulled her to sit astride him. His body could stir to the mere thought of her, and touching her was far more potent. She kissed him as his fingers made their way up her thighs. There was a distant shout followed by commotion and more raised voices. Gylledra sat upright with a sigh.

“Duty calls, _Lord_ Saurfang…”

“It does…” He sat up and kissed her neck, watching her resolve quickly slipping as his hands moved over her bare back and hips.

“Shouldn’t we…be getting dressed?” She breathed and Saurfang smiled inwardly, amused at how easy it was to distract her this way. Gylledra was a terrifyingly powerful, menacing, battle-hardened warrior…that seemed to melt whenever he put his hands on her.

“Yes, we should.” He whispered before pressing his lips to hers and she nearly gave in as he stroked her tongue with his. She pulled back though.

“Then why are we…” She gave a small groan, pressing herself against him. “No. Not that I don’t want to…obviously I do…” _Damn_ , he thought, but she was right.

“I know.” He smiled though, it wasn’t as if they were deprived, by any means.

Gylledra was on her feet, pulling her clothes on seconds later, leaving him with that pang of longing. He struggled to stop thinking about having her wrapped snugly around him again, her body writhing beneath him as she—he forced the thought out, shaking his head and clearing his throat.

“War waits for no one.” He replied, following suit.

“Especially Archimonde.” Her warmth vanished alarmingly, replaced at once by the cold, calculating, menacing warrior version of herself. “He will burn this mountain to ash to get what he wants, and enjoy it that much more knowing these lands had become a place that I would make a home in.”

“The demon knows you?” It was still surprising how much he didn’t know about her.

“He is no small foe, he’s a lieutenant of Sargeras.” She glanced over, doing up her vest. “The times I was captured typically…involved him.”

“Captured?” He murmured, then something…anger perhaps…seemed to flash in her eyes as she looked at him.

“I was something of a plaything, he seemed to think. You can imagine my invested interest in his defeat.” Her tone was clipped but she sighed and reached for her coat. “But, I got away. Every time.” She plastered on a smile in attempt to mask the sudden rage that had bubbled up. He knew it was not directed toward him, but it led him to wonder what Archimonde had done to her…he could guess and firmly pushed it, too, out of mind.

“How did you get away?” Saurfang rumbled.

“Well…” Her expression softened a little. “I have a close friendship with a very tenacious dragon whose temper rivals any I’ve encountered.” He found it difficult to imagine Nasorya with a temper, she’d never raised her voice in anything but raucous laughter since he’d met her. But then, he _had_ seen her true form and watched as she delightedly tore demons limb from limb.

 

When Saurfang and Gylledra emerged from his tent, no one batted an eye, no one looked in their direction at all, pointedly being interested in things in any direction but theirs. That was just as well, really, everyone had bigger problems to worry about than who slept in whose tent.

Jaina Proudmore and the rest of her Alliance troops had begun building a base at the foot of the mountain, which would be Archimonde’s first stop. Within the next day, the Horde had found a defensible spot about halfway up and they were now building. Saurfang oversaw the perimeter wall construction and security posts while Thrall managed the logistics and plans to slow the demon lieutenant as best they could. Nasorya, in dragon-form, assisted with moving materials while Gylledra pored over the maps and diagrams with Thrall and his advisors. Her knowledge in this was invaluable, she had fought these demons before and had a better idea of what their tactics might be.

 

“I can say with certainty that there is a Legion base established on the mountain somewhere; they know there is a resistance, they’ll have planned for that.” Gylledra told Thrall as Saurfang entered the barracks. She pointed to the map. “I would think this region is where they likely are, and if that is the case, they will have enough troops nearby to split and come at our encampment from both sides to try and clear his path, which divides us….and there are a great many more of them than there are of us.”

“I am glad for our new allies; alone, the orcs could not withstand attack from both sides.” Thrall murmured. He leaned on the table with both hands, staring down at the map as Gylledra moved the small stones representative of their troops and the Legion’s in illustration.

“Archimonde _will_ start with the Alliance base, though, he takes too much pleasure in wreaking havoc and inflicting pain not to, it will be a point of pride for him, to kill his way up the mountain.” Her jaw clenched and unclenched then she glanced up at Saurfang. She hadn’t been involved in planning the strategy during their last battle, but it was clear that this was where she was in her element. “They will decimate the base, I only hope that human can get some of them out alive. Complete sacrifice will not serve our cause.”

“Are you certain he won’t be stopped on his way up?” Saurfang asked as he walked up beside her.

“Absolutely.” She was calculating, efficient, and to the point. Gylledra would never soften the blow of a hard truth. “I know Malfurion, the plan was never to stop Archimonde from getting to the top, only to slow the bastard while he prepares some catastrophic trap to destroy him.”

“Ah, that’s right, you fought in the first invasion.” Thrall crossed his arms, regarding her.

“Do not be surprised if his plan kills us all in the process of destroying Archimonde. The last time he had a big idea, this world had only one continent…and, well, now there are many.” A little amusement seemed to flit across her face. “He is nothing if not capable of achieving results.” She paused for a beat or two. “I know none of us would be here if we weren’t willing to die for this world.”

“Malfurion makes for a powerful ally.” Saurfang nodded.

“Do not expect him to remain your ally, they are highly suspicious of outsiders, particularly those who try logging their forests.” She looked at the map. “If Archimonde takes the approach I think he will, the demons will be expecting to surprise you, since they assume you are stupid.”

“To slow them down we will want a stronger defense where they will hit and perhaps ranged attacks from inside out base to at the least thin them out.” Saurfang told them. Thrall nodded in agreement.

“Get what archers we have and face ballistae at both sides, have catapults ready as well.” Their Warchief took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He looked concerned, they all knew their losses would be great. There was no way to come out of this without massive casualties. Silence hung heavily in the air.

“I must reconcile the fact that it will not be my strike that kills _him_. All that truly matters though, is that he dies.” Gylledra said quietly then looked from Thrall to Saurfang, her expression softened. “I must see to it that Nasorya is not terrorizing anyone. We’ll make some rounds and check perimeter mines, you know where to find me if you need to.”

Saurfang watched Gylledra leave; she had given them a viable plan of action in a situation that would have been purely guesswork otherwise. Growing to know her more and learning what else lay beneath her surface would be an adventure in and of itself. The curving view of her hip-swaying departure was particularly pleasing, but it was imperative to keep from becoming distracted. They’d had relatively little contact with the chaos of working on the base; though it was likely she was avoiding losing focus as well. Despite his efforts, Saurfang found his mind wandering to her often, his desire rising as though he were a young orc again.

Thrall cleared his throat, pulling Saurfang back out of his musings and he looked over, shifting a little, then frowning down at the map, giving an approving nod at nothing in particular. He doubted the effectiveness of this maneuver, attempting to cover up where his thoughts had been hovering.

“We are fortunate to have found Gylledra, or rather, that _she_ found us.” The Warchief told him, confirming suspicions about the obviousness of his thoughts. “She has already given the Horde much, many owe her their lives. Now she may be the difference between death and victory. Should she wish it, the Horde would welcome her as one of our own.” Saurfang glanced up at Thrall.

“Isn’t _she_ the one you should be telling that to?” He asked.

“I intend to, but you should know it too.” The Warchief was no fool and knew without needing to ask that Saurfang’s involvement with Gylledra went well beyond a simple dalliance. He fully intended for her to be a permanent fixture in his life.

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

Nasorya felt anxious; Gylledra was in the midst of a frustrating cycle of experiencing emotion then immediately barricading herself safely behind the tall walls that were war. The warm, glowing openness she’d been radiating had receded beneath a steely glare as the preparations for what would be Azeroth’s stand against invasion began. More concerning, however, was the knowledge that the demon coming for the World Tree was none other than Archimonde, with whom Gylledra had a long and terrible history. That fact alone no doubt had contributed heavily to the chilly attitude taken on by her sister in all things but blood.

“Nasorya.” Saurfang’s gravel cannon of a voice startled her and she dropped her cup, spilling water down the front of her. She shook it off her hands, muttering a curse or two, and casting a somewhat annoyed glance at him. How in the ever-living hells a creature of his titanic mass was able to sneak around was a complete mystery to her.

“You need to wear a _bell_.” She snapped, grabbing a cloth to dry off more.

“Forgive me.” He shifted, seeming perhaps a bit uncomfortable. They hadn’t had much cause to speak alone with one another, and Saurfang undoubtedly assumed that Gylledra had told Nasorya about…everything…which she had, of course.

“Well, out with it, you’re obviously here to talk about Gyll. What’s she done?” She folded her arms, enjoying his visible discomfort. “Or…what’s she _not_ done?” A smirk snaked across her lips and the mountainous orc set his jaw for a brief moment.

“Anticipating a fight against Archimonde has obviously got her, I don’t know…out of sorts…” He began. _Oh, serious talk. Damn_. Nasorya wondered if this was where he started asking her for information about Gylledra instead of acquiring it directly. “Whatever her reasons, just…don’t let her do anything to get herself killed.” Nasorya’s eyes widened a little.

“Funny, I’d thought about saying the same thing to you, but…you don’t need to know her for as long as I have to understand that if she sets her mind to do something stupid she will do it with or without interference from us.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” He grumbled.

“I do understand what you mean. I know that this battle will not be won here, and Gylledra knows it too. But don’t be fooled by the methodical way she plots her battles. The plan is for everyone else to follow, she’s much more impulsive than she will ever admit. Sometimes it leads her to victory…other times it is to her great detriment.”

 

* * *

 

There were times Nasorya could still feel the weight of chains on her body. There were echoes of the pain from raw, open wounds on her wrists and ankles from manacles she’d worn for more years than she could count. The scars were so deep even Gylledra could not make them go away. Nasorya kept them hidden now, with small leather bracers; it was easier to not have to explain them. She’d lived much longer even than Gylledra, and in all that time, her most vivid memories were seeing the bloodied, raging elf destroying the prison around her in a fit of self-destruction. Gylledra’s face had seemed almost feral as she peered into the darkness where Nasorya lay in filth and dejection, too weak to care about living or dying.

Gylledra had struck off the chains and manacles without asking any questions, without knowing anything about who she was rescuing and scooped Nasorya’s thin, humanoid form into her arms.

“I’m a dragon…” Nasorya had weakly announced. Better to get that bit of information out of the way up front lest she only be abandoned later on for what she was.

“I’m an elf.” Her rescuer replied without hesitation.

“No, you don’t understand…”

“What is there to understand?” Gylledra gave a little shrug, lacking any and all concern, which mystified Nasorya at the time.

“You’re not afraid I will eat you?”

“I was hoping you would, it would save me some trouble.” Gylledra grunted, hoisting Nasorya into a more comfortable grip as she picked her way out of the rubble. At first it had seemed like a joke, and Nasorya started to smile, but she saw the look on the elf’s face, one she had seen before on other faces, mostly those who had passed through that prison. She had come there to die.

“You’re saving me so that I will kill you?”

“No, but I wouldn’t mind if you’d be so kind.”

“Well, I’m not going to _be so kind_.” Nasorya declared, obstinately.

“Very well, there are plenty of other things that will.” The pain and regret in Gylledra’s voice had cut through Nasorya like a blade. She’d seen more suffering than probably any living thing.

“I won’t let them.”

“You’re a half-dead dragon, I cannot suppose you’re equipped to stop much of anything right now.” They continued out of the worst of the ruins of what had been the prison.

“I’m rather industrious, you will find, when I put my mind to something.” Nasorya watched her rescuer’s face closely. “If you came here to die, why did you tear apart that fortress? Why did you decide to carry me out of it?”

“For one thing, I didn’t think you’d talk so much.”

“Ooh, bad luck, there. I haven’t had anyone to talk to in centuries.”

“Wonderful.” Gylledra rolled her eyes.

“I think you probably shouldn’t die.” Nasorya went on. She had been so very weak, but her mind was as sharp as ever.

“I think that’s not up to you.” Gylledra set her down beside a large wall and began mending her. She said nothing, but Nasorya could feel how powerful she was as her strength was restored with shocking speed.

“What has happened that was terrible enough you would seek your own end?”

“Do you ever cease your yammering?” Gylledra snapped, but didn’t quit her ministrations.

“No.” Nasorya smiled. “I’m clever enough to know that you have much left to do.”

“I have one thing left to do.”

“I disagree.”

“And why should _your_ disagreement have _any_ bearing on me?” Anger was coursing through Gylledra, but most of it was directed at herself.

“There is no one else to tell you there is still goodness in you. If there wasn’t, you would have left me in the rubble to perish.” Nasorya gave a shrug.

“There is no goodness left.” Gylledra stood, and with her strength miraculously returned, so did Nasorya.

“There is, I can…”

“You _don’t_ know!” Gylledra shouted.

“Then tell me.” Nasorya folded her arms but Gylledra’s eyes had turned black suddenly and she came forward, grabbing her roughly, hands on either side of Nasorya’s face.

Things from inside Gylledra were violently forced into view for Nasorya. In what was mere moments she had witnessed almost the entire life of this stranger, and there were indeed horrors, things she’d chosen to do that were monstrous. But she saw everything _else_ …everything that proved Nasorya right. The images and memories tore through her like jagged glass, sapping some of the strength that had just been returned to her.

Gylledra let go of her but Nasorya threw her arms around her, squeezing her in a tight hug. She doubted very much that anyone hugged this crotchety, unhappy, self-loathing elf.

“What…are you doing?” Gylledra demanded, holding her arms out to avoid reciprocating in any way.

“Being a good friend.” Nasorya answered before finally taking a step back.

“We aren’t friends.”

“Of course we are, I know everything about you now.”

“And I know nothing of you, dragon.”

“Well, _elf_ , if I showed you, your tiny brain would explode!” Nasorya laughed as Gylledra stared at her, baffled. “So, friends?”

“All I’ve done is you free…” Gylledra clearly wondered what kind of mistake she’d made.

“Yes…hence the friendship.”

“I’m not sure you know how friendship works.”

“DUCK!” A demon had scooted around a corner and hurled his weapon at them. With a string of curses, Gylledra had dodged it just in time. Letting out an exasperated sound, she kicked a stone she’d charged with void magic at the demon, striking it in the chest. They hurried farther away, behind them, the demon screamed as whatever horrible thing she’d made happen…happened.

“So, like I said, friends.” Nasorya told Gylledra when they reached a sheltered outcropping.

“We’ve only just met, I don’t even know your name.”

“But you’re helping me, what does a name have to do with that?”

“Helping you doesn’t make us friends.” Gylledra had wiped some dirt off her own face with her sleeve, letting out a long breath.

“Of course it does.”

“I’d hate to think what that makes those I _haven’t_ helped.”

“Dead, I imagine.” Nasorya mused.

“That is not helpful.” Despite the dire tone, there was something then in Gylledra’s eyes, the tiniest spark of visible amusement.

“Luckily, for me, _you_ are.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Gylledra rubbed her face and looked away, but not before Nasorya saw the ghost of a smile as she shook her head. There were several long moments of silence as she worked on building a fire. “My name is Gylledra.” Delight had surged through Nasorya.

“I am Nasorya.” She replied. “Thank you.”

Gylledra had tended to the wounds and nursed Nasorya back to health without questions or demands, even amidst the ridiculous chatter. Everyone Nasorya had known of her own kind were gone, all of them tortured by demons seeking new ways to make weapons; she’d simply been waiting for her death, the world she came from had been destroyed utterly. Gylledra was sarcastic, her wit a little acidic sometimes, but she was kind…and she had been just as alone as her new friend.

 

“Everything alright?” Pava asked. Nasorya blinked and looked up from her reminiscing as they chopped wood.

“Yes, of course…” She smiled, giving a shrug. “Just remembering things from…the old days.” Across the camp she watched Saurfang emerge from the barracks and catch up to Gylledra. It was too far away to hear what they were saying, but Nasorya found it comical how they both were sort of puffed up and official-looking attempting, to hide how disgustingly besotted they were with one another. Pava noticed where she was looking and gave a quiet laugh.

“That…is so strange.” She commented.

“Why?” Nasorya frowned, silently daring the orc to say something untoward about different peoples being together.

“I had begun to believe there would be no happiness for orcs, not in our world before, and not in this one. I suppose it means there is hope.” Pava’s answer was unexpected, but she was right.

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

When the lookouts came hurtling into the encampment screaming their warnings, there were mere moments only before the throngs of demons were at their gates. As predicted, they came at the Horde from both sides. Thrall commanded the lower gate while Saurfang gave orders at the upper gate.

They were sustaining major losses far too quickly when suddenly white-blue blasts of energy wrapped in coils of darkness exploded out of nowhere, decimating several large demons. Saurfang glanced back to see Gylledra, fully armored, striding toward the foray, enveloped in black tendrils of void rolling off her like heavy smoke. Above them, winged, bat-like beasts were descending but Nasorya was up there with them, snatching them from the air, setting them on fire, and throwing down the corpses onto the Legion troops like grisly artillery.

Gylledra managed to push them back somewhat, throwing up barriers that slowed and inflicted damage. As she fought, her blades tearing through demon flesh, her attention was repeatedly drawn to the lower gate where heavier forces were attacking, it was also the direction from which Archimonde would come. Saurfang made a decision as he swung his axe, embedding it in a giant spider-like creature that oozed green.

“Get to the lower gate…we have this one handled!” He barked at her, over the roar of shouting, weapons against armor, and the screams of the dying. She gave a wordless nod, erecting one last barrier before turning in an all-out sprint toward the lower gate. They were going to be overrun, there was no question about that, but they had to defend for as long as possible, counting on the human mage to get the survivors out. It wasn’t something he was comfortable with, but there was little choice. If Jaina Proudmore betrayed them, he could at least trust Gylledra to get as many out as she could.

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

 

When the earth began to rhythmically tremor beneath their feet, even the attacking demons gave a brief pause. Gylledra thought her heart had stopped for several beats when she saw the towering form of Archimonde heading for them. He had never appeared that way the times she had encountered him, he was Eredar, big, yes but not like this. He towered over even trees, consuming the energy from the very mountain itself around him.

She barely recognized the scream of unadulterated fury and hate that tore from her throat as he drew closer to the gate. She reached out, planting void charges over the remaining goblin landmines to multiply their power in the hopes doing any kind of damage to the gigantic demon. His laugh as they detonated enraged her further.

“I smell your magic, little witch.” He chuckled. “But I don’t have time to _visit_ today.”

Gylledra saw red and just as she rushed forward toward what would no doubt be her end, she was grasped around the waist as she shrieked in Shalassian before hissing the vilest insults she could think of at Archimonde in Eredun.

All reason and control had left her as she hurled bolts of arcane, void, and fire at him, all of which were easily deflected. He was much more powerful than she’d ever seen, and her rational mind fought to rein herself in. It was Thrall who grasped her, to her surprise.

“This is not where you die, elf.” He bellowed at her. “Stall what you can, get our people back, save the survivors. He will not be defeated here!”

Gylledra had to choose. She could revel in shedding the blood of demons and perhaps give Archimonde a scratch or two, giving in to her lust for vengeance before she was inevitably killed…or she could stop thinking about herself and give the orcs the option to survive. The choice should not have been a difficult one, she knew what the right thing was in her rational mind, but there were thousands of years’ worth of pain clawing at her. When did doing the right thing become so difficult? Archimonde would fall into Malfurion’s trap and they would win…she needed to let go of the fantasy that she would look into the demon’s eyes as he died. She’d come to love this Horde, not just Varok, and she wanted them to live.

“I will get them out.” She told Thrall, and only then did he release her. She rushed forward, not to inflict damage but to teleport what surviving soldiers there were to the interior of the encampment where Jaina’s mass-rescue would take them to safety… _if_ she herself had not been destroyed.

She dodged blades and strikes, looking for every still-living orc, troll, tauren, or goblin she could find, moving them to the center. Varok had ordered his troops to pull back and they too were gathering in the middle. It pained her to see how many had already died, and worse still to see how many were raised to fight against them immediately after.

Thrall stood out ahead of them, the fortifications were demolished, all their artillery, the buildings, all the work they’d done was rubble, but it _had_ slowed Archimonde, and Gylledra could see the anger in his face, which brought her some satisfaction.

“Your resistance was for naught! Pathetic!” Archimonde boomed. “Your people fail again and again. Orcs are but the very picture of weakness! And all of you will die today…for nothing.” He was taunting them, trying to get them to attack and Gylledra saw that Thrall was too far from the rest of them.

“Our spirit is strong, something the Legion failed to see before. If we are to be defeated, at least we are _FREE!_ ” With that, Thrall unleashed a massive bolt of lighting that struck the demon, scorching his flesh and he roared, enraged. It was a joy to see Archimonde’s pain, even if it was just a little.

Time was drawing short, however, and Gylledra lunged forward, wrapping an arcane tether around Thrall’s waist. As she had anticipated, Varok grabbed her, pulling her back and with her, came Thrall just as the world around them all blurred and changed.

 

The surviving Horde now stood on a peak opposite from Hyjal, high enough that they could see the furious Eredar destroy what was left of the base before raising their dead for his army. Everyone was silent, the Alliance survivors watched in the same stunned silence, all of them helpless to assist now, they could only observe, clinging to hope that Malfurion’s plan did not fail, lest this be the last they ever looked upon this world as their home.

Gylledra stepped forward, chest heaving, and she ignored the wounds she’d sustained. Her helm vanished as she peered across the expansive valley. There was sweat and blood on her face, both trickling down the sides of her neck. Every second ticked by like a hundred years, it seemed, Archimonde’s progress looking much slower than it had felt when they were fighting him. All sense of time was lost, it had to have been more than an hour that they watched in horrified silence, waiting.

The final base, that of the Night Elves, at the summit was summarily destroyed with almost no effort. He had amassed so much power throughout the ascent, it didn’t seem possible that any trap might stop him.

“Look.” Varok whispered suddenly and Gylledra narrowed her eyes, seeing it too. Wisps were rising from the forests of Mount Hyjal, and even from around where the survivors were standing, all of them shot toward Archimonde, appearing to hover harmlessly so that he ignored them, climbing the tree itself.

“What can wisps do?” Thrall asked, glancing at Gylledra as though she was the resident expert on all things elf.

“I have no idea…” She murmured. They were swarming, moving around Archimonde and Nordrassil alike. More and more gathered as he climbed.

The sound of a horn rang out clearly across the region in a way that could only be amplified by magic. It was a signal for…something, it _had_ to be Malfurion. Everyone seemed to move forward, waiting for whatever was about to happen, and had they not watched it with their own eyes, none of them would have believed it possible.

With streaks of light, the wisps seemed to penetrate the World Tree itself and only seconds passed before the explosion that shook the earth hard beneath them all; many were knocked off their feet with the force of it. Gylledra had shielded her eyes and against the powerful shockwave she saw Archimonde destroyed. His forces were destroyed, the war ended in the blink of an eye…but not without cost. The forests around Nordrassil were ash, the tree it self terribly damaged, she could _feel_ the absence of its power even from that distance.

“It is done…” She breathed, and similar declarations rippled through the crowd, voices raising. They wanted to cheer because it was over, but the losses were so great that it seemed disrespectful. Gylledra could only stare, unable to identify how she felt just then, as though somehow it wasn’t real yet. But…the invasion was _over_.


	11. Chapter 11

Heat still rose from the scorched earth beneath Gylledra’s boots even though a night had come and gone. Malfurion had sacrificed the immortality of his people to save not only themselves, but all of Azeroth. She wondered distantly if the powers of Nordrassil had reached the Nightborne beneath their shield or if the Nightwell held sole dominion there.

Most importantly, Archimonde was _dead_ …igniting the power inside the World Tree had incinerated him; now, all that remained, were his bones and the warm ashes she stood upon. The shadow of his existence had long loomed over her, it felt almost strange to be free of the darkness he had cast on her existence. Few demons had impacted her as directly as he had.

“It is truly over.” Came Varok’s voice, from behind her.

“This battle, yes…and Archimonde…he is never coming back.” She murmured. “The _war_ will be over when Sargeras falls…hopefully we have time now to better prepare for the next time they invade.”

“You’ll never have to endure whatever he…”

“Torture.” Gylledra turned and saw his stunned expression. He’d likely guessed at that already, but she knew it was still a shock to learn of such things in certainty. “Every time I was captured I was tortured…but…it doesn’t matter now.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Varok frowned.

“He is dead…and I am not, and I will sleep easier knowing that not I nor any other will be at his mercy again.” She scuffed one boot in the ash. “Now, we move on…we make a home in this world and we live our lives, preparing until they come back.” It seemed strange, the possibility that there might be at least some happiness in store for her, that she might live to enjoy her life, even if it was temporary, it was more than she had imagined for herself before.

“You’re right. The Horde will build a city, a home of our own.” Varok put a hand on her shoulder. _Could we truly make a home together?_ She wondered. She wanted that very much, quite a lot more than she had let herself admit before. When it was possible that they would die, she had pressed down all her hope, ignoring it to try and prevent regret.

“So you want me to stay?” The question slipped out before Gylledra could stop it, but there it hung between them, Varok’s brows raised in surprise and confusion.

“What?” He blinked, looking at her like she’d grown a second head…as though she should have known. “Of course I want…” He seemed almost flustered. Perhaps she _should_ have known, perhaps that assumption came part and parcel with what they had said to each other that night on their “hunt”. Her body gave an involuntary and not altogether unpleasant clench at the thought. Without impending battle against demons hanging over them, there was much more time for…whatever it was that people who were _together_ did. What _did_ go on between couples, she wondered, besides the obvious? Her feelings for Varok encompassed a great deal more than what was between his legs, though now, since the thought had presented itself, she was having a little trouble thinking of much else.

“Oh, good.” Gylledra murmured, willing the topic to change.

“That…was a concern?”

“Well, I don’t know the protocol.” She felt a little foolish.

“ _Protocol_?”

“I’ve seen it often enough, passionate affairs in times of war and crisis that inevitably burn out when the battles are done. It was always one of the reasons I never got involved…”

“Then why _did_ you _get involved_?” He was visibly agitated.

“Because I am in love with you, that is not an affair.” The words flew out of their own accord, though they had voiced their feelings, she had never said _it_ outright.

“Did you think it is not the same for me?” Varok asked quietly, coming closer.

“I assume nothing…assumption leads to disappointment and heartbreak, and I am not very inclined to willingly subject myself to either of those.” She told him, growing upset, though she wasn’t entirely certain why. “I don’t think you understand the magnitude of this for me…”

“I thought you didn’t _assume_ things.” He growled and she took a step back, regarding him through a glare. “Perhaps you think all your years with no one puts you at greater risk, that somehow you are the only one who might experience disappointment and pain.”

“I never said that!” She hissed in reply. “I never implied that! I mean only that I cannot know what your thoughts are, I know what you have told me and that is it.”

“And what have I told you?” He took another step closer, their voices hushed enough not to carry and be overheard. Gylledra stared at him, furious that he was bringing her to a very valid point, though more furious with herself. What _had_ he told her? There had been so many things both said and done alike. She was _afraid_ , everything about being with someone was foreign to her…it wasn’t a situation she could kill and destroy her way out of. Her fear poisoned what she _knew_ to be true, and now she felt like a foolish child.

“Varok, I…” She didn’t know what to say and he leaned in close, his expression very serious.

“You and I are not so different, Gylledra. We _both_ bleed if cut.” He strode away and Gylledra was left feeling rather terrible. The concerns and fears she had about whatever came next were _hers_. He had done nothing but prove himself again and again to her through his actions and his words. It wasn’t right that she should question what she _knew_ to be true, he deserved her trust.

Gylledra was wrong and needed to make amends, to tell him she understood, that she believed him, and trusted him. As she headed toward where the others were, his words seemed to stick with her, _we both bleed_ …she’d hurt him with her foolishness. Not only that, she’d failed to think about his own experiences…he _had_ a mate before that had died, he _knew_ firsthand the loss she feared yet he risked facing that again.

“Alright?” Nasorya asked. The orc beside her looked amused.

“Did you have your first fi—” He was abruptly cut off when Gylledra grabbed him roughly by the harness he wore.

“Finish that sentence and I will rip your guts out _through_ your eye sockets.” She snarled, and he paled slightly before shoving him backward again.

“I’ve seen her do it.” Nasorya chimed in.

“ _Not_ helpful.” Gylledra jabbed a finger at her then ported to where they’d camped the night before, a thing she rarely did, but she needed to be by herself for a bit.

 

* * *

 

She had been organizing their supplies and stacking crates into one of the wagons, she felt tired as she often did the days after long, strenuous battle. Varok, having returned with the others, approached quietly, his expression undiscernible.

“I am sorry.” She said quietly, before he could speak. “I was ignorant to…”

“You’re not ignorant.”

“I feel very foolish…ashamed even that I…that I cannot seem to see everything as clearly as I should…” She stopped though, as his expression softened.

“It is not neat or organized; it is not predictable, and certainly not logical all the time. It is messy and sometimes painful.” He told her. “And through that, we must both turn to what we know to be true.”

“I will be more mindful…” She looked down. “But I will need your help.”

“And I will.” He leaned his forearms on the side of the wagon. “There are some things I would like to be perfectly clear on, Gylledra.” His tone became disconcertingly businesslike.

“What is it you’re clarifying, then?” She watched him warily.

“I meant what I said to you that night.” He started, watching her closely. “It is no small thing…and all that goes with it.” For wanting to be perfectly clear, Gylledra thought he was certainly dancing around it quite a bit, but she didn’t suppose that many orcs sat down to have heart-to-heart conversations about _feelings_. She was certainly no position to fault him for that, considering that her capacity to be forthcoming about deep feelings that truly mattered was…lacking.

“It is no small thing.” She agreed.

“It is my desire…my hope, that you will choose to remain with the Horde, that you will help us build our city, and that you will make a home there…with me.” She gave a wordless nod, unsure of how to reply. “My personal feelings aside, you have earned a place of honor and respect. There is not one amongst us who has not been affected by all you have done to serve the Horde.” Gylledra’s head spun a little at the abrupt flip of subject matter.

“I…” She blinked, uncertain of how to reply. Varok stepped back and stood up straight, then, to her surprise, he put his fist across his chest in salute. She gaped at him, but there was a flurry of movement and she looked, only to see all the Horde nearby, though out of earshot, getting to their feet, fists across chests, one of which was Thrall himself. Varok was one of the most highly respected and regarded orcs in the Horde, it meant something to his people when he gave such recognition. Overwhelmed, Gylledra could only stare for a long moment before she returned their salute and it was met with a celebratory clamor. Varok leaned down close to her ear.

“You _are_ Horde now, little elf.” He whispered. “I don’t think it gets much clearer than that.”

“No, I imagine not.” She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Lok-tar ogar.”

Gylledra looked for a long moment into Varok’s eyes, their amber color warmed her, or perhaps it was the way he looked at her. Before knowing him, she had never wanted anything for herself. Much had changed in what comparatively was a short amount of time. With the war over, and despite her exhaustion, an unexpected excitement bubbled up inside her at the prospect of having a home for the first time in thousands of years. It was strange not having an immediately impending battle or a war. They could go to sleep, then wake up in the morning, and not wonder if it was going to be the last sunrise they would ever see.

“I want to rest.” She told Varok. “I want to wash this dried blood off my body and out of my hair. I want to lay down on soft, warm furs, and feel them against my skin.” he watched her, saying nothing, one brow arched a little higher than the other and she moved closer to him as he wondered just what direction this was heading in. “And I…want you…on the firs with me.” A hint of color rose in her cheeks, voicing that particular desire.

“After a bath, of course.” He offered. Gylledra nodded, laughing quietly.

“Yes, I am rather disgusting right now.”

“Well, I meant me.” He gestured at his gore-splattered self, but he looked pleased at the grin that spread across her face. “But you’re fairly disgusting too.

 

They’d had the foresight to stockpile camp supplies and made a short trek through the woods to a less hostile area with better water access. It was likely they would camp for more than a day to allow everyone time to rest and recuperate. The terrain they scrambled through was unforgiving and up ahead, Gylledra watched as Baine helped un-snag some brambles that had somehow gotten impossibly tangled around Nasorya, then offer his hand to help her across the fallen trees, which she accepted, stealing a glance upward at the tauren.

“Did you _see_ that?” Gylledra asked, nudging Varok and grinning to herself.

“Shh.” He replied, a small, conspiratorial smile on his lips.

By nightfall, a tent-city had been built beneath the trees on the rise across from Hyjal, which was now out of view. Gylledra cleaned up, as desired, in a nearby stream with only the moonlight shining, though this time, to her relief, _without_ any spectators. Nasorya was washing as well, being unusually quiet. Typically, post-battle, she couldn’t stop talking and rehashing various events throughout the fighting. Instead, she was uncharacteristically distant, staring into space. Gylledra had a couple ideas as to why, because she was experiencing something similar.

“War is very different when you’ve come to know and love the people who died on the battlefield.” She offered. Nasorya looked up and nodded, not very surprised that Gylledra had guessed correctly at her melancholy.

“I have formed many friendships since we’ve come to Azeroth…and far too many ended in just a day.” Her voice was strained. “I find it unpleasant and disturbing, but necessary, the things we’ve learned in just a few months.”

“Yes, we both have learned lessons, haven’t we?” Gylledra replied as she wrung the water out of her hair.

“Yours have been a _much_ better than mine.” Nasorya muttered petulantly.

“I disagree…you enjoy very much the company of this Horde, and they seem to thoroughly enjoy your company as well. Baine has been sidling nearer to listen to you often enough for _me_ to notice, so…” Gylledra barely contained her amusement as Nasorya spluttered, her ashen cheeks suddenly glowing pink. The number of times she had blushed in the last several thousand years could be counted on one hand, and it delighted Gylledra even further.

“That’s ridiculous!” She burst. “That…that _two_ -legged, _bovine_ , walking… _mountain_ of a creature cannot _stand_ me. Nor I him!” Gylledra splashed her suddenly and was rewarded with bald-faced shock and indignation. Nasorya wasn’t nearly as good as taking it as she was dishing it out.

“There, you can cool down now.” Gylledra laughed before they dissolved into adolescent shrieking, splashing, and giggling.

 

* * *

 

Gylledra made her way through the darkness as she returned to the small pavilion dressed in simple linen breeches and a shirt, her hair was damp and unbound. There were fires built, surrounded by groups of various Horde and Alliance members alike, eating, drinking, and talking. Gylledra knew that this peace was not permanent; they would enjoy it while they could, hopefully all would remember one day that such a thing was possible.

Inside the pavilion, Gylledra found Varok’s armor piled up in one corner, which was curious considering she hadn’t seen _him_ anywhere. Orcs were big and green and with his gray hair, he was rather easy to spot. She lit an oil lamp but her eyelids felt heavy and she was certain that if she crawled beneath the fur coverlet, she’d be asleep in moments.

Varok stepped in wearing just his leather leggings and Gylledra halted, staring at him as he fastened the ties on the flap. He was a bit damp, no doubt having found the creek as well.

“You look exhausted.” He commented and she gave him a wry smile.

“You look very nice too, thank you.” She shifted the position of the oil lamp on its upturned crate unnecessarily, fidgeting. He took her hand though, pulling her toward him.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered, bending to kiss her. His skin was hot to the touch and she wondered if that was an orc thing, having unusually warm bodies.

Varok reached downward, catching the edge of her tunic and pulled it up. She raised her arms, letting him take it off then she reached for the tie on her breeches but he stopped her. He took the tie himself, slowly pulling it and the knot unfurled with a small pop. When he let go, her bottoms slipped down around her ankles. Thinking that fair was fair, she reached for the buckle and laces holding his own pants up but he stopped her hands again.

“Not yet.” He told her quietly.

“No?” She arched a brow, looking pointedly at the bulge straining against the leather.

“No.” The smile that snaked across Varok’s face made Gylledra’s eyes widen. _WHAT is he going to do?_ In answer, he scooped her up, gently putting her down on the furs before standing up again. Her eyes devoured the sight of him as he reached for the buckle at his waist. He sprang free as he pushed them down, stepping out one leg at a time. “Don’t touch.” He warned and Gylledra nearly groaned aloud with the strange, yet alluring combination of frustration and anticipation. She realized then that it was precisely what he wanted her to feel.

Varok knelt down between her legs, sitting back on his heels and she could only stare, her hands practically tingling with the urge to feel his chiseled form beneath her fingers.

Slowly, he massaged her calves then her thighs, carefully avoiding touching one region in particular, much to her excited dismay. She began inching her way closer to him but he stopped her with one hand on her middle, giving a tsk.

“Don’t touch.”

“You’re insufferable.” She panted. Varok merely chuckled. How was she _this_ worked up? He had done almost nothing!

“Turn over.” His voice was soft but still commanded obedience and her mouth dropped open. For the very first time in her _life_ , Gylledra complied without question or argument. His thick fingers massaged her legs again, all tension leaving her stiff muscles until it felt as if she had no bones. He worked his way up her back and shoulders and even down her arms. The throbbing ache deep within was all that kept her from drifting off to sleep.

Heat radiated off his body as he hovered over her back on his hands and knees. She gasped when suddenly his lips pressed against her shoulder and nearly lost her self-control as she felt him lightly drag his tusks across her skin to the other shoulder. She lifted her hips, trying to get a knee beneath her in hopes of pressing herself against him, and he gently, but firmly pushed her back down.

“Not. Yet.” He told her… _again_.

“Ugh…for the love of fuck, Varok…” Gylledra groaned. Cruelly, his fingers slid up the inside of her thigh, touching her, feeling how ready she already was. She let out a shuddering breath.

“Mmhmm.” He hummed, amused. Unexpectedly, he turned her back over. His eyes seemed dark, and he didn’t appear to be as completely calm as he sounded. He kissed her mouth again and her pulse leapt. _Finally! Yes, yes, yes! Now, now, now!_ She chanted mentally, to no avail. She reached for him and he caught her wrists, pinning them on either side of her head.

“Do I have to _tie_ your hands?” He asked, his smile belied the growl. Gylledra gaped at him in complete shock but she kissed him then lifted enough to bite his earlobe.

“Maybe next time.” She breathed and he let go of her wrists as his mouth trailed down her neck and between her breasts and she stared down at him, eyes round, as he just kept going.

“What are you doing?” Gylledra panted.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked, his breath hot against her sensitive flesh, the feel of it making that ache _that_ much stronger. “I will stop if you ask it.”

“No…don’t stop.”

His mouth descended on her and she cried out, barely stifling it, nothing separating them from the rest of the camp but thin canvas walls. He kissed her there, his tongue made quick work of her as the coiled tension in her belly broke violently and Varok reached up, covering her mouth, her hips grinding against his kiss.

Gylledra was shaking when he rose up over her again, pleased at his handiwork he wiped his mouth with his forearm, his face very close to hers.

“There are two things that orcs excel at above all others.” He growled. “Battle…and _pleasing_ our mates.” With one firm stroke he filled her, giving a grunt as her flesh clenched around him. Suddenly, she didn’t care how far her voice carried. It was an overwhelming and intoxicating sensation as Varok moved inside her. It certainly seemed accurate to her that he indeed excelled at pleasing her. He edged her closer and closer toward her completion as she felt his muscles move and contract with every movement. Just as she neared the peak, he slid one arm under her and turned onto his back.

Gylledra moved her hips, it wasn’t far off…she was still close as he guided her with his hands on her hips. She braced her herself on his chest and she could feel how fast his heart was beating. His eyes moved over her body and she increased her pace, then he began to move beneath her, their bodies making contact just right. She was breathing hard, her eyes shut tight.

“Look at me, Gylledra.” He told her and as she did, the wave crashed into her and she tried to keep quiet, shaking with the effort. Varok began tensing up and she leaned back, her hands behind her on his thighs as her hips ground against him. His breath was coming fast and he wrapped his hands around her waist, suddenly thrusting deep, his head back as he let out a long, low groan. She could feel him pulse inside her as he finished.

Varok wrapped his arms around Gylledra, pulling her against his chest. She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his breath and the thrum of his heart beneath her cheek. She dozed a little, she was certain, but woke when she needed to go relieve herself.

“Are you alright?” He murmured, half asleep himself.

“Yes, of course.” She whispered. The whole camp sounded quiet now as everyone rested easily for the first time in so very, _very_ long. “I will be right back.”

Gylledra was startled when she stepped out of the tent to find an orc sitting hunched on the other side of the dying fire, too far within earshot for her comfort. Broxigar! He was glowering into the low flame. He looked up at her then.

“I would like to speak to my brother, if you’re finished with him.” He grumbled.

“Um…I’ll get him.” Gylledra murmured and slipped back inside the tent. Varok looked up, frowning slightly from his very comfortable place on the furs. “Your brother is outside and would like to speak to you.” She couldn’t help but wonder just how long he’d been out there.

“Brox?” Varok sat up and she nodded. He looked somewhat concerned, but got to his feet, pulling on his trousers. “Might be a while, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’ll be here. I’ll be unconscious, but…I’ll be here.” She smiled.

 

The brothers were sitting side by side in the midst of some serious discussion as Gylledra made her way back to the tent. She hurried by without interrupting and once inside, slipped back under the furs which were still warm. She managed to string two or three thoughts together before falling asleep, immersed in the bliss of unconsciousness.

By the time she felt Varok climb in beside her, there were birds chirping their pre-dawn song. It had been a long talk, then, that he’d had with his brother.

“He didn’t look okay.” She murmured sleepily as he curled around her.

“He isn’t.” He replied. “Thrall had sent him and a detachment to hold a pass to keep the demons at bay…he was the only one to survive and regrets that he did not die with the others.” He explained.

“I suppose that deep sense of guilt is hereditary then. He will get the glorious death he so desires.” She yawned, closing her eyes.

“I have no doubt.”

“I know it for fact, I was there.” Sleep was settling over her.

“What?” Varok’s grip on her tightened a little.

“In the first war, ten thousand years ago…your brother was there, I don’t know how, temporal magic of some sort I imagine. But I met him then, and now I know why it seemed like he knew me.” Gylledra continued, her voice starting to trail off. “Strange, don’t you think? That I should meet him so long before I would come to love his brother.” Varok replied only with a _mmph_.


	12. Chapter 12

The land claimed by the orcs, Thrall had named Durotar, in honor of his father, and the great city they were building was called Orgrimmar for the mighty Warchief, Orgrim Doomhammer, who had freed the orcs from their captivity. Gylledra stood on the wall over the main city gate, gazing out across the red, craggy desert that was now home to the Horde. Despite its dry barrenness and the dangerous things that lived in the caves and caverns, it was beautiful in a way, it was the symbol of the orcs’ freedom, crowned with their capital at the north.

To her knowledge, a city of this magnitude had never been built so quickly. It was made possible by aid from the tauren and the Darkspear trolls. They had sworn their allegiance to the Horde and were very important in its inception. The major construction was mostly complete, the larger facilities inside the walls were also up already, most of what was left to do was home-building, erecting shops and blacksmiths and armorers. All the merchants and artisans amongst the Horde could finally set down their axes and again take up the professions they had chosen.

It was time to get back to work on her own dwelling, and Gylledra headed for the stairs that led back down off the battlements. With the help of a master mason called Thokal, she had designed the home she would share with Varok. He had been very patient with her insistence on certain elements that were decidedly non-orc, though she often saw him roll his eyes as he muttered about the frivolity of elven aesthetics. He was an abrasive, opinionated older orc, perhaps similar in age to Varok, and most found him difficult to get along with. Gylledra liked him immensely, much to his chagrin.

“I’m _not_ your damned doorman, Lady Saurfang!” Thokal barked, slamming open the door to the library where she was currently building shelves. His bald head shone, and short white beard sticking out in all directions. She didn’t need to see his face to know the annoyance in his dark eyes.

“Then _why_ are you in here telling me someone is at the door?” She asked levelly, looking up at him when she finished tapping a peg into place with her mallet. It was Thokal who first called her _Lady Saurfang_ , which she ignored and continued to ignore each time he did it. Knowing that it irritated her seemed to delight the old mason. He grumbled something rude and Gylledra gave a snort. “Please show in my guest, Thokal.”

“He can show himself in!” He roared, stomping back down the hallway to the room he was working on. A couple moments later, a different orc stepped into view, framed by the doorway.

“Lady Saurfang?” Eitrigg asked wryly, clearly trying to decide if it was a joke or not.

“Thokal thinks it’s _hilarious._ ” She brushed off her hands and got to her feet. “What can I do for you?”

“Here is a list of those I believe may be interested in your…pursuits.” He held out a folded piece of paper which Gylledra took, unfolded, and scanned the names. “Pava has the list as well and said she would find out if any are viable candidates and perhaps add her own nominations.”

“Excellent, thank you. I do know some of these names.” She folded and stuffed the list into her pocket. “You certainly made quick work of that.”

“I was nearby…looks like the house is coming along nicely, another few days and it should be finished, yes?” The old orc looked around the room, nodding his approval. He was a Blackrock orc, like Varok.

“Just in time for the celebration.” She grinned.

“What sort of intelligence are you hoping to gather, anyway?” Eitrigg asked.

“Primarily, my concern is demonic activity. It will be useful, I feel as well, to have some knowledge of what’s going on in the world.” She explained.

“Mmph.” He grunted. “Clarifies the need for individuals capable of being discreet.” Eitrigg wasn’t the smiley sort.

“Why ask me and not Saurfang? He’s as familiar with everyone as I am.”

“Do you shit where you eat?” She replied with a smirk.

“Understood.” He made what might have been a snort of amusement before departing once again.

Knowing that the death of Archimonde would assuredly _not_ be the last Azeroth saw of the Burning Legion, Gylledra intended to create what she hoped would be the beginning of a network essentially. She’d discussed the idea at length with Thrall, who agreed that such information would prove invaluable should another invasion happen in a shorter period of time than it took for Sargeras to muster up a second. So far, her little organization was comprised of Nasorya, Pava, and herself. Ideally, she wanted members from all the differing peoples of Azeroth, but she kept that bit to herself for the time being; getting Night Elves on board for that would be next to impossible considering the ongoing hostilities between Ashenvale and Durotar.

Gylledra wasn’t the only one busy assembling a force of specifically skilled members of the Horde. Varok had been training his Kor’kron guard practically day and night. They were the elite of the elite and would serve to protect and support the Warchief. There was no time to relax as Orgrimmar rose up around them, building a nation was hard labor.

There was a dark cloud unseen by most that hung heavily over the new city. The hundreds of orcs who remained of those who had sacked the Draenei city of Shattrath and decimated the city of Stormwind under the influence of demon blood were deeply shaken and disturbed by their own actions, just as Varok was. Gylledra could see them, it was in their eyes, and she wondered how everyone else failed to notice.

Varok sought out and spoke with any he could and it was draining and helpful for his own plight at the same time. She could always see it on his face when he had been talking to someone about it. She never asked him who or what they talked about, though part of her did wonder. Sometimes the two of them spoke together of their own experiences. For them it had only been decades, for her it had been millennia, so she’d had much more time to come to terms with it. Despite his best efforts, many still were lost… _too_ many.

 

* * *

 

A massive gathering, only days away, had been planned in the city to celebrate their victory over the invasion, their freedom, the city itself, and the addition of the tauren and the Darkspear troll to the Horde. Life went on regardless of those who were suffering in silence.

The celebration would kick off with an evening gathering with music and drink and food, followed by three days of festival. Gylledra found herself more excited for it than she’d expected and was looking forward to seeing everyone at their best. Though also it meant spending time recreationally, yet another foreign concept to her. Free time had never been a thing.

Since the battle on Mount Hyjal, Gylledra had also made a number of connections with various individuals amongst Jaina Proudmore’s forces. One such connection was a dwarven tool-maker called Rook Coldrock who was now in the new settlement Jaina was building called Theramore, but they communicated back and forth.

There was little that paralleled dwarven craftsmanship when it came to brewing and building so Gylledra had written to Rook to place a special order of chisels and other stone-working tools, including some design ideas that incorporated Horde markings. Rook delivered, going above and beyond, providing some of the most beautiful tools Gylledra had ever seen. With them was a note from Rook herself, which commented on her amusement at having received so many orders for so many different things from Orgrimmar.

 

Thokal was nearly finished working on the house, he was finishing the intricate tiling in the bath chamber when Gylledra found him. He grunted his greeting without looking up.

“I think I might actually miss your grumbling around here when you’re done.” She told him. He responded with another grunt. “Your work is the best, Thokal. Here, this is for your trouble.”

“You’ve already supplied payment…” He protested, but she set down beside him the cloth roll the dwarven tools were wrapped up in and he looked down at it but didn’t move. Gylledra left, but stood just outside the door listening to the quiet rustle as he untied and unfurled the parcel. The sharp inhale as he saw what was inside was enough for her and grinning to herself, she walked away.

 

Her library had shelves and furniture and in time would be full of books, she was certain. The wolf-skin rug was crooked and she adjusted it, then admired the completed room. It still felt empty and not quite like she _lived_ there, but it was a space she would call her own.

“I, ah…it’s all done.” Thokal said, stepping into the library. He took a look at what she’d done with the room before turning to her. She noticed the roll of tools tucked safely beneath one arm and the slight awkwardness he exuded.

“Took you long enough.” She scoffed and folded her arms, but smiled. He looked relieved that she wasn’t expecting any discussion of her gift.

“Perhaps if you didn’t have so many frilly demands it would have gotten done more quickly.” He scowled, and gave a harrumph, but it was apparent enough that he was pleased.

“Well, rest assured that I will be bothering you again should I require more work done.” There _were_ plenty of other projects she’d have liked to monopolize him for, but there were others who undoubtedly required his services.

“Mmph.” He nodded. “Give my regards to Lord Saurfang, Gylledra.” With that, he left her there in surprised silence. He’d never used her name before.

 

* * *

 

Nasorya, in an effort to find her place amongst the Horde, had begun sampling different hobbies and artisan work. This week, she had become fervently obsessed with cooking and Gylledra found her in the bakery that had recently gone into operation. It was run by a good-natured, amply built Orc called Kosha. Nasorya was up to her elbows in flour as Kosha laughed quietly.

“Keeping busy, I see.” Gylledra greeted.

“I finally managed biscuits with perfectly flaky crust, they crisped _PERFECTLY_. Look at them. Look at the biscuits!” Nasorya pointed toward the far corner and Gylledra turned, startled to find a bothered-looking tauren hunched on a stool much too small for him, holding a tray of what did indeed look like perfect biscuits.

“Baine?” She almost laughed, noting that he was surrounded by various other biscuit attempts, some looking rather burnt. He grunted and set his jaw, shoving the tray at her and she took them.

“She’s getting better.” Kosha snorted, hiking up her apron practically under her armpits. “Lucky for him.” Her thick forearms were as muscled as any warrior and indeed Gylledra could attest that she wielded an axe just as aptly.

“Why are you doing this to yourself you daft mammoth?” Gylledra shook her head at him and he refused to meet her eyes. She took a bite of a biscuit though and despite its visual perfection it tasted a bit like clay. “Oh…” Her face likely said enough gauging by the sudden frown on Nasorya’s face.

“I said _look_ at the biscuits, not eat them! One thing at a time!” She snapped then came around to the prep table snatching a lumpy sack off the counter. “Here, take these with you if you’re headed to the Hold.”

“What?” Gylledra took the sack, giving it a dubious look, trading it for the tray.

“Don’t worry, _I_ made those.” Kosha assured her. She pulled a cloth off a large bowl and dumped a giant slab of fluffy dough onto the floured counter. “ _And_ these.”

“You want me to bring snacks…to the Warchief?” Gylledra asked.

“Why not?” Nasorya blinked, looking at her as though she was insane.

“Um…alright…well, enjoy your…progress.” She turned and before leaving, stuck what remained of her terrible biscuit to one of Baine’s horns and she was out the door before she could see whatever scathing glare he gave her.

Baine and Nasorya insisted with such zeal that they couldn’t stand each other that finally there was a new topic in the gossip grapevine that had nothing to do with Varok and Gylledra. A dragon and a tauren were far more intriguing than an elf and an orc who were openly living together without secrets; she thought perhaps it had something to do with the hooves and horns. Nasorya flat out refused to discuss the tauren despite the fact they were frequently spotted together. It was amusing and delightful for Gylledra to see her friend hurled outside the safe parameters she had kept inside of for so long.

In a few short months, the orcs had built what would have taken other civilizations years. She could have never imagined her life to change as it had in so short a time. Across the Valley of Honor, Gylledra spotted Varok as he leaned on his axe in the midst of conversation with two other orcs. He looked relaxed, despite being armed and armored to the teeth, as was the natural state for most orcs. He hadn’t noticed her, or if he had, he made no indication; she didn’t often get to observe him covertly.

She continued toward Grommash Hold at a leisurely pace, admiring him like a twitterpated adolescent. It was still very new to her, the intimate involvement they’d entered into, and she was very easily distracted by him, unfortunately. Varok’s eyes moved to her suddenly and an excited jolt coursed through her. He winked and Gylledra’s face felt very hot, but she smiled at him, moving at a more determined pace up the stone roadway to the Hold. They’d been sharing quarters since Hyjal and it had been a very interesting adventure. Not every moment had been ideal, but nobody could be amiable _all_ the time.

The Hold had an unusual quietness; it was a new structure that didn’t have constant inhabitants yet and so the sounds of people outside, muffled by the walls seemed to emphasize the stillness of the inside. The smell of fresh cut lumber and new mortar filled her and she felt unexpectedly hopeful and happy. Thrall was likely somewhere in the building since he was meeting shortly with his advisors, but she took a moment to take in the silence.

“What are you doing here, little elf?” Varok’s voice rumbled behind her, and he snaked an arm around her middle. He was getting better at sneaking up on her. “Don’t you know how dangerous orcs are?” She was pressed against him and as he leaned down, she could feel his hot breath, close to her ear and she let out a shuddering exhale.

“Don’t orcs know how dangerous _I_ am?” She replied and reached up behind her, fingers sliding up his jaw and back into his hair. “Fraternizing on duty, High Overlord?”

“I do as I like.” He growled.

“How about doing what you like right there on the throne?” Gylledra grinned, hearing his sharp inhale of shock.

“You’re despicable.” He chuckled, his hand sliding down her belly, a particular target in mind.

“It’s your fault.” She breathed. “You’ve filled my head with _all_ kinds of things.”

“That’s not all I’ll fill.” Varok’s long fingers reached their destination and she closed her eyes. “Warchief.” He said suddenly, releasing her and her face flamed as Thrall and two of the Kor’kron entered the main chamber through a back passage.

“Saurfang. Gylledra.” He greeted, taking a letter from a third guard who seemed to have materialized out of nowhere. Gylledra frowned; _that_ guard would have been an ideal candidate for her purposes. She couldn’t steal one of the Kor’kron, though, that was the point of them, they wouldn’t be swayed from their duty. If anyone could instill the sheer brutality of ardent loyalty into them, it would be Varok. She cleared her throat, doing what she could to shoo out of mind what was just happening.

“These are for you.” Gylledra held out the sack of biscuits toward Thrall who, focusing on the missive he was reading, reached for it. “Biscuits from Nas.” He pulled his hand back, looking at the sack like it was full of poisonous snakes. “Don’t worry, Kosha made them.”

“In that case, I accept.” He took the sack and set it down. “A few days ago, it was cookies that tasted like tar and before that it was muffins I’m almost certain were made with river mud.”

“She could have picked a much worse hobby. Like taxidermy.”

“Hence why I have encouraged her to keep working at it. Kosha is just happy to have free help, I think.” He gave a small snort. “If she graduates to entrees I will worry.”

 

Pava, carrying a small case beneath one arm, found Gylledra as she was headed out of the Hold. She had no interest in their meetings and was grateful for not being made to sit through them.

“I was able to talk to the individuals on Eitrigg’s list.” She started. “May I speak freely?”

Gylledra frowned. “Yes, of course, in fact I insist you always speak freely, Pava.”

“I am wondering why you chose to go through Eitrigg for recommendations and not Lord Saurfang.” The orc explained, voicing the same thing Eitrigg had.

“Reasonable question, but Varok has the Kor’kron to worry about and I think it is prudent to keep a certain degree of separation between things that are…work, and things that are not.”

“Makes sense.” Pava nodded. “Well, I’ve got four individuals who would like to hear what you have to say; I told them to meet at my house this evening at sundown, by then everyone will have finished with their tasks for the day.”

“Good work. If you see Nas, let her know. I imagine she’s still at the bakery making beautiful but inedible food.”

 

* * *

 

The orcs waiting for Gylledra at Pava’s residence were comprised of one female and three males: Orma Gorefall, Karnak Bromgo, Grul Tuskmaw, and Reggie. Reggie was the more elusive, mysterious one of the lot; he was a rogue and Gylledra wasn’t sure that his name was _actually_ Reggie, but no one knew him otherwise.

“Thank you all for coming.” She greeted, looking from face to face. Orma had a hard expression and it was Gylledra’s understanding that she had lost much in the battle against the Legion. Karnak and Grul were soldiers, both of them built like titanic landmasses, and Reggie was somewhat slight of build for an orc. “To allay any concerns, I assure you, Thrall is well aware of my goals.” Three of the four seemed to relax somewhat, except Reggie, whose face remained impassive. “You all know as well as I do that while great, our victory at Mt. Hyjal will not be the last we see of the Legion, Sargeras will not stop until Azeroth is destroyed…or until Azeroth destroys _him_.” She began to explain. “In my lifetime I have amassed a great deal of knowledge on combating demons. This world has pushed them back _twice_ now, which _no_ other world to my knowledge has done even once. They _will_ be back and this world needs to be prepared.”

“What do you propose?” Reggie asked, his expression having shifted from impassive to mildly intrigued.

“The Legion will not be beaten by one faction or another, and we all can see plainly enough that this tentative peace will not last, no matter how much anyone hopes it will. There will be war again between the Horde and the Alliance, I can’t imagine the rest of the humans of Lordaeron and Stormwind feel the same way as Jaina Proudmore does. I have no delusions of actual _lasting_ peace between the two sides, certainly not for the foreseeable future. What I am seeking is to form a group that spans all people, who all agree that it is of the utmost importance to keep track of demonic activity, to prepare, and to watch for the signs that another invasion is imminent…and to watch for evidence of any group aligning with the Legion. I have made contact with various individuals in Theramore who share these ideals.” She paused for a moment. “I do not ask for loyalty to me over Thrall, only dedication to the preservation of this world against demonic threat. While the leaders are immersed in their political squabbles, there needs to be people who are looking at the forest through the trees.”

 

Gylledra hadn’t demanded responses immediately, she told them to take what time they needed to think about what she had said. Saying yes meant a willingness to bend the rules, it meant agreeing not to betray fellow members of the opposite faction, and it meant grueling training to learn the most efficient ways to permanently kill demons. It wasn’t very surprising, though, when Reggie emerged from the shadows as she made her way home. Her unique relationship with the shadows had betrayed his presence when it was unlikely any other might have detected him.

“Reggie.” She greeted.

“I take issue with one thing.” He told her without preamble. “In an organization such as yours, loyalty is of the utmost importance. If you play second to our leaders, how can you wield us as you desire?”

“People are not simply tools or weapons to be wielded, and I will not ask anyone to go against their honor and loyalty to their Warchief, or king, or whatever.” She folded her arms, regarding him curiously. “What honor would I have if I so easily dismissed that of others?”

“Many may disagree with me, but honor is not black and white.” Reggie leaned against the side of the house. “To do what you wish to do, your people need to swear their loyalty to _you_. What I do agree with you on is that it is a choice of free will, but also you will need to be quieter about recruiting. No more Eitrigg, no more Thrall in the loop.”

“How will that make me trustworthy to Thrall?”

“You told him what you want, that is enough, I think. No one else needs to know. You’re asking us to be spies…some of us already are…” He smirked. “Your cause is worthy of loyalty…the world as a whole in importance far outweighs political alignment. I have seen what you are capable of, I was on your ship. You nearly died for us, and you risked your life for the world itself on that mountain. That is enough for me.”

“You believe I should ask people to swear their allegiance to me?” She felt a little skeptical.

“I think you should let those who are already loyal to you find others who will be too.” The smirk snaked back across his face again. “Trust works both ways.”

“I see what you mean.” Gylledra nodded. “So, you’re here to swear yourself to my organization?” He stood up straight, his fist over his heart.

“I, Droh Axesong, so solemnly swear my allegiance and service to _you_ , Gylledra Alenos, submitting myself to your will to fight for the preservation of Azeroth, and to stand against any and all who seek its destruction whether they are enemy or kin.” _Trust works both ways_ , he had said, and he’d proven it, giving her his actual name. “I swear it by my honor, on pain of death.”

“Thank you, Reggie. I accept your service.” She replied. He gave a nod and disappeared back into the darkness without another word. Gylledra watched after him for a long moment, mulling over the points he’d made. They were all very valid, she needed trust rather than just declarations that she would not ask those in her service to act against their honor. Trust was earned through actions.

 

* * *

 

Pava had somehow roped Gylledra into assisting with the celebration planning, mostly organization and some security. Unless the Night Elves were planning a surprise attack on the city, which was unlikely as they were still reeling from their losses during the defeat of Archimonde, there was little threatening Orgrimmar, which made it an ideal time to celebrate.

Finalizing events and organizing who was going to be baking or selling or cooking what ate up a number of days, in addition to arranging for celebratory décor as well. Mingling with more of the people, though, served multiple purposes. In particular, Gylledra was able to meet and talk with more individuals and make note of who she might like to speak to again about her own project.

“I’m already exhausted and it isn’t even mid-day.” Gylledra complained to Pava. It was the last day before the event was to start. “And then I will have to try to have some kind of dinner prepared…I do not care for this domestic bullshit.”

“Make Saurfang do it.” Pava couldn’t even keep a straight face through the sentence.

“Are picturing him with an apron over his armor?”

“I am now!” She was outright laughing. “Well, in his vows, did he promise to serve you? That’s a common one, swearing service to one’s mate.”

“Vows?” Gylledra frowned.

“Yes, during your ceremony…” The mirth seemed to trickle out of Pava. “When the two of you were…bound together as mates?”

“There wasn’t one…” A strange feeling sank into Gylledra’s belly. “I thought orcs had no formal marriage traditions.”

“Oh…I…” Regret crept up Pava’s face as Gylledra’s mind began to race.

Varok was not far off, but he was out of earshot. The Kor’kron were being given orders for the upcoming festivities, where they would be, what they would do. He had never said anything to her about any sort of ceremony and ignorance had been bliss, because now she wanted to know why. Was it because she was not an orc? Would he have told her if she was? Would it be accepted? Was she deemed somehow unworthy still by the orcs? Or worse, did Varok simply not want to permanently tie himself to her? Though perhaps because he’d had a mate before who had died, he simply did not wish to officially have another.

He looked over, as though he knew she was watching, and he started to smile until he saw her face. She could not hide her thoughts and feelings from him, everything showed whether she wanted it to or not. She felt…badly. Disappointment, confusion…questions pouring forth that she would never ask him. She quickly looked away from him, not wanting him to see, not wanting him to ask her what was wrong…because he would. He cared…he loved her and would not want to see her upset, especially if it was because of him. It was just too soon, they were together, yes…but it had only been months since they’d met.

“I’m sorry, Gylledra.” Pava interrupted the destructive cycle whirling its way through her and she shook her head.

“Don’t be, it is nothing. Come, we have a long list of things that are yet to be accomplished.” Gylledra took a deep breath and she pushed it all down. There was work to be done.

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

That look on Gylledra’s face hung with Saurfang as the day pressed on. She had never looked at him that way before, as though utterly disappointed in him somehow. The glimpses he caught of her throughout the rest of the day, she didn’t look at him, and though she was smiling as she worked and spoke with various people, it was strained, and he could see it even if no one else did.

When night had fallen, he found their house empty still, which wasn’t unusual, she had been out quite late the last few nights. A small parcel had arrived for him, inside was a gift he had commissioned for Gylledra. He intended to leave it as a small surprise she would find when she woke to get ready in the morning, but had nothing to write the note on.

Hoping to slip in and out before she returned, he went into her office, lighting one of the lamps. This was her space, but he didn’t know where else to get what he needed. There was something about the way clutter gathered in the places that were hers, it wasn’t a mess so much as a scattering of things that made him think of her. He was sure that he could identify Gylledra’s clutter anywhere. There were papers and books on the large wooden desk. The books had various bits of paper and other things in the pages to mark places. Off to one side were a number of empty cups that had yet to be cleared. Scraps of paper of every size littered the desktop with nonsensical notes, doodles, and scribbles. When he opened one of the top drawers, he found the spout from a liquor barrel tossed in with various writing implements, smooth stones, string and other bits.

Saurfang picked up the spout, wondering what it was doing in a desk drawer of all places until he realized it was the one from the ship all those months ago when they had crossed the sea to Kalimdor. He smiled at the memory…the first time he’d felt her lips on his, and held her in his arms. It was a sentimental object and while he didn’t particularly care much for _things_ , something as ordinary as a barrel spout could hold immense meaning.

Carefully, he set it back in place and grabbed a pen and one of the bottles of ink also in the drawer before closing it. He opened another and found what he was looking for, a stack of blank paper, so he took a couple pieces, sliding the drawer shut once more. As he turned to leave the desk, a sheet of paper moved off of what looked like an open journal. She was still such a mystery to him in so many ways, he wanted to know more. Something inside him vehemently protested as he gently slid the sheet of paper farther aside, revealing more text of her entry. Against his better judgement, he leaned forward a little and looked, curiosity getting the best of him.

_…as things seem to be coming along nicely. There is still so much to do yet, but I am getting more organized, whatever Nas may think. I’ve received back several correspondences from Theramore, and I feel it will be a good place to start to form stronger connections with humans, dwarves, and gnomes. I am fortunate to have recruited individuals who share my belief, that see despite enmity and past wrongs done on all parties that we must work together to build something so much greater than ourselves, that this organization will span all factions, all people and together we will be certain to…_

“Varok?” Her voice startled him, and he looked up where he found Gylledra standing in the doorway, watching him. He was caught…he had not meant to go through her things, but nevertheless, he had, and she found him in the midst of it. Words failed him. “What are you doing?” She asked and he saw the shadows of that disappointment in her eyes from earlier. She looked tired but now her brow furrowed as her eyes found what he had been reading. “Those are my private things…”

“I came to find paper and ink…” There was no response he could make that would not sound like an excuse. And certainly, there was nothing he could say that would alleviate whatever else there was that was bothering her in addition to this new offense.

“And you found it.” She gestured to what he was holding. “Then you thought you would read whatever you found lying around?”

“No…”

“Do you not trust me?”

“Gylledra…”

“I would prefer that if you have questions and curiosities, that you simply come to me and ask me. I have no secrets.” She looked more hurt and disappointed than she had before, and it was like a knife to his gut. “Even if you wished to read my journal, where I write down my most private thoughts, I would show it to you, if you truly needed to know.”

“I do not wish…”

“Please put the lights out when you’re finished. Good night.” She turned and left the office, leaving him there standing over her belongings and he felt very small. He’d never felt the need to pry into her thoughts, she’d never given him reason to. It was a foolish, destructive thing he did, and he let out a long sigh before putting out the lamp and leaving the room.


	13. Chapter 13

Gylledra woke still feeling tired. She’d gone to bed and sometime later heard Varok enter the room. He stood for a long moment before undressing and getting in beside her. He did not move close to her and gather her in his arms like he usually did, and it only served to make her feel more wretched. Now there were two things to contend with in addition to trying to ensure the celebration was a success.

The long hours she had put in working on the planning had paid off when she found that there was relatively little to actually do the morning things were to begin. Varok had been gone already when she got up that morning and again, she felt disappointed he’d said nothing to her. She didn’t believe he’d been going through her things intentionally, but that didn’t change the fact that he had. He had a great many things lying about pertaining to Orgrimmar and the Kor’kron which she never looked at, though she wasn’t particularly curious about them.

“Pava, everything is done, why did we get up so early?” Gylledra asked, trying her best not to sound as though she was whining.

“To get ready, of course…” Pava stared at her.

“Get ready? Everything _is_ ready…” She glanced around the Valley of Strength where vendors were setting up their booths and some last minute decorating was happening. The sun had not risen yet above the cliffs that surrounded the city and it still felt shadowy and cool. The patrolling guards were still carrying torches even.

“No, I mean for _us_ to get ready for the celebration…what do you plan to wear?”

“If you speak of clothing too loudly, Nasorya will appear out of nowhere and…” Gylledra stopped as she heard the familiar elevated chatter and laughter from afar. “See? I swear she can sense such discussions. The monster she becomes with clothing makes her dragon form look like a kitten.” The dragon in question spotted them from across the valley and waved enthusiastically.

“You’ve planned nothing?” Pava looked bewildered.

“I didn’t realize I was supposed to…”

“I figured as much. You’re very fortunate, you know, that I was clever enough to plan ahead for just this very thing.”

“You what?”

“Come on.” Pava took her by the wrist, gesturing to Nasorya to follow as they headed toward Gylledra’s own house. “It’s a big day, we must look our best.”

 

Her own physical appearance was something Gylledra only rarely ever considered. It wasn’t until knowing Varok that she thought with any regularity about how she appeared. He’d chuckled at her before when she had mentioned her lack of knowledge when it came to the orcish sense of beauty, making it seem as though there wasn’t one. Pava demonstrated otherwise as she gathered clothes from a chest Gylledra hadn’t even noticed in the corner of her bedroom before.

“Lord Saurfang allowed me to conspire to get these here.” Pava explained before she could even ask _how_ they had gotten there, then tossed them down on the bed. It was strange having anyone in her bedroom that wasn’t Varok, it had become their quiet, private sanctuary where none could invade or interrupt their sleep…or anything else.

It wasn’t an extravagant house, orcish architecture primarily centered on practicality. It was big enough for them to live comfortably, the library was probably the most frivolous room in an orc’s opinion. The bedroom itself was fairly large; the ceiling was vaulted and there was a fireplace. The bed was expansive of course, it had to fit an orc after all. There was a simple wooden armoire with Gylledra’s things kept within and one of the adjoining rooms was where Varok kept his armor and various clothes. The other adjoining room was the bath chamber, Gylledra’s second favorite room. Downstairs, in addition to the allegedly frivolous library was an entire armory where there was _more_ armor as well as what Gylledra thought was a nearly inordinate stockpile of weapons. Though some were things that belonged to warriors who had died in battle.

“ _Gylledra?_ ” Nasorya’s voice called from downstairs. “Are you home?”

“Up here!” She replied.

“How exciting!” Nasorya beamed, entering the room a moment later and making a beeline for Pava as she organized the tangle of items from the chest.

On the table by her side of the bed, Gylledra noticed a small parcel which had not been there when she’d risen that morning. With Pava and Nasorya busy chattering about the upcoming events of the day, she picked it up, turning it over slowly in her hand. The paper, she realized, was what Varok had taken from her desk the night before. It was folded neatly and tied with thin twine; there was no writing on it but she knew it was from him.

With her back to the others, she sat on the edge of the bed, carefully untying the tidy knot. There was something wrapped inside the paper that moved with a tiny metallic clink. Once unfolded, Gylledra saw there were seven metal rings, not the type for fingers, six of them comprised three matching pairs made of steel, each with a different design and the seventh was very small, highly polished silver. Carefully, she poured the rings into her hand, looking closely at them, touching the texture. It was fine metalwork, dwarven, she was sure. The rings had been wrapped in a letter; to her shock, he’d written in Shalassian, which itself she found touching.

 

_Dear Gylledra – I owe you an apology, there is no excuse for having invaded your privacy. I deeply regret that I have upset you, and crossed a line that risked damaging the trust you have in me. It will not happen again, and while we both know the hollowness words can have, I assure you, I mean every word and will endeavor from here on to prove it through my deeds. I can see that there is more beyond that, which weighs on you, and I will not press you to tell me, but please know that I will do whatever I must to help if I can._

_While sometimes I think to myself that you must know well the regard in which I hold you, I know I have not often said it. It has been an honor I cannot put into words to have been chosen by you, to have the happiness I thought never again possible that I certainly do not deserve. Perhaps your titans have smiled upon me for some unknown reason, I cannot speculate much, I only can be grateful. I want you to have the items enclosed, I sought them from your Dwarven friend, Rook, I know how you admire her work._

_When you read this, it will be the morning of the celebration in the great city we have built. It is a joy to see my people again in a home, and an even greater joy still that we share it together. I look forward to having you at my side as we stand with our Warchief. I love you. – Varok_

 

Gylledra read the letter over two more times, she had not expected him to notice that there was something else wrong, but it was not something she would burden him with. She could not bear it if he were to go through with a ceremony simply to placate her. She had been content without it before, she could be content with it now. He loved her, he said it, he showed it, and she knew that he meant it, and that was all that mattered. Smiling inwardly, with her lower lip between her teeth she felt a warm feeling deep inside her that bloomed outward, something much grander and deeper than any physical response she’d had to him. She looked down at the metal rings in her hand, they really were quite beautiful. They were Dwarven made, but they were _Orcish_ jewelry. Typically, Gylledra never wore such adornments, not because she didn’t want to, but because she’d never had any reason to, and simply because she just never had any to begin with.

“Can you pierce my ears?” She turned and asked suddenly, interrupting the chatter.

“I can pierce _whatever_ you want me to.” Pava grinned in response.

“What?” Gylledra blinked, slightly taken aback as Pava chuckled.

“You heard me.” The somewhat lewd grin on her face led Gylledra to wonder just what _else_ exactly orcs commonly pierced.

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

Saurfang was uncertain about how angry Gylledra was with him, though he hadn’t exactly given her the opportunity to tell him. He was well out of practice when it came to _domestic_ disagreements, more than two decades out of practice… _and_ Gylledra was not an orc. He imagined that in a lot of ways, she would be much less pleasant even than an angry orcish wife. He trudged broodingly around, completing his morning duties, double checking the plans for security and that the officers who served beneath him would have everything in order. Technically he would still be overseeing things, but he intended to spend the day with Gylledra, having some recreational time for the first time…since they’d even met.

“Did you have a fight?” Nasorya appeared out of nowhere and he quickly looked over to where she was now walking along at his side.

“What?” He frowned, certainly not about to reply one way or the other, though if she was asking it meant Gylledra hadn’t said anything about it. He wondered if that was bad or good.

“You both look wretched, I can think of nothing else that would cause that.” She went on. At least she wasn’t asking more questions. “Whatever it was, I know she will forgive you.” Why was she assuming _he_ needed forgiveness? Though, she wasn’t wrong. “She will forgive you anything, you know. Well, almost anything, probably. But I suspect you would do the same of her.”

Nasorya smiled up at him, putting a hand lightly on his arm before she headed off in another direction. It was very different for her not to be teasing him, for her to be genuinely helpful. He saw that like Gylledra, there was much more to the dragon than what anyone could see.

When he rose, the sun was not up yet, he had not seen Gylledra since then, the curving shape of her beneath the blanket as she slept on her side. He’d kept an eye out for her as he went about his duties, to no avail. There was plenty that needed to be seen to at Grommash Hold still, though he was distracted for most of the morning, lost in his own thoughts.

The schedule was that at three hours past mid-day, a procession led by Thrall, his advisors, and of course numerous Kor’kron guards, would leave Grommash Hold, passing through the Valley of Honor, acquiring whoever wished to join along the way, then they’d make their way through part of the Drag to the Valley of Spirits and finally enter the Valley of Strength where most everyone would be gathered. Thrall would make a speech, and the revelry, which undoubtedly would have only just barely paused, would continue with music, food, drinking, and whatever else any and all participants wanted to do. Gylledra was supposed to be at Saurfang’s side for the procession, and as the time drew nearer, he grew somewhat concerned that she had yet to arrive. He wanted her there with him for all to see; he _needed_ her there. This was as much her home as the orcs, she had worked just as hard, had sacrificed just as much. In any other situation with any other elf, he doubted a pairing such as theirs would be at all accepted, let alone welcomed. Though she had never said so, he could tell she worried often enough about that. He was not ashamed of her, he was proud that a warrior such as she saw him fit to be her partner. Everyone knew her strength and her power, and everything she had done for them. It helped that they were both too old to have or want offspring, which would have been impossible anyway. Saurfang’s youth had long since left him, but whatever was left of his life, he wanted to spend it with Gylledra.

The conversation in the throne room of the Hold droned on in a dull roar as those present waited for Thrall’s direction to assemble. Saurfang nodded periodically when it sounded like he was supposed to in the conversation going on with the orc and the troll standing with him, but he wasn’t listening. His gaze was fixed blankly on a spot on the wall across the room from him and it wasn’t until the room got oddly quiet that he came to attention, glancing around for the cause, expecting Thrall to have begun assembling.

All eyes seemed pointed in one direction and Saurfang turned toward the doorway to see what they were looking at. His mouth dropped open a little bit as he stared like an idiot just as everyone else was. Gylledra had stepped into the throne room, but did not appear as she typically did. Publicly, on a regular day, Gylledra appeared one of two ways, covered from neck to toe in dark leather pants and a vest or jacket, or in her plate armor, with her hair back in a long braid. Practicality was always first and foremost in her mind and despite not particularly caring about the aesthetics of her day to day attire, she always looked beautiful he thought.

She was dressed at present in distinctly orcish garb. The top was a dark, rich brown leather, ornately carved, studded, and fit her as though she’d been poured into it, her breasts accentuated with a long slice of visible cleavage. Her midriff was bare, the silvery arcane marking glinted in the light. There were various straps and buckles, arm bands to match around her upper arms and bracers, all of it emphasizing her warrior’s physique. Around her hips was a leather loincloth of the same design as her top, a heavy, studded belt with straps and flaps that tapered off between her thighs. There was gray fur poking out from under the edges of the belt, no doubt for comfort as well as aesthetics, to keep the hard edges from chafing. There were straps around her thighs attached to the belt, and her legs were wrapped from the knees down in matching boots.

When Saurfang closed his mouth and tore his eyes from her body he saw her hair was loose down her back, two small braids hanging down in front of her ears, the top portion intricately braided back from her forehead. To his shock, he saw her ears were pierced each three times; the two larger sets of hoops went through her lobes, the smallest set was about halfway up her long ears. Her eyes, which were on him, were slightly darkened with kohl and he noticed then the small, delicate silver loop hung through her nose above her lip.

Gylledra didn’t seem to notice everyone staring and when Saurfang cleared his throat, all conversation resumed as she made her way toward him. He stepped away from the conversation he’d been a non-participant in and met her part way across the room, his pulse racing as it often did with her.

“In truth I thought you’d make them into a necklace instead.” He gestured to her earrings, careful not to touch in case the new piercings were sore.

“Because I’m so predictable?” She arched one brow at him and Saurfang gave a snort.

“Yes, _that’s_ what you are.” He murmured, then took her hand, his voice lowered. “I _am_ sorry. I must know that you forgive me.”

“Yes, I know. I do forgive you.” She smiled. “There is nothing I would keep from you. If you like, when this is all over today, we can talk at length in private about anything you wish.”

“I would like that.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him a bit.

“Me, too.”

“How do you like orcish clothes?” Saurfang changed the subject then, pointedly avoiding whatever the _other_ thing was that she had not mentioned yet, whatever it was.

“I quite like them.” She looked down at herself. “I might get more things like this, its more comfortable than I’d have thought.”

“I’ll never get anything done.”

“That’s _your_ problem.” She flashed a wicked grin.

“I will suffer well.” He said, close to her ear. “Just so long as I can peel them off you when we get home.”

“That _is_ the idea.”

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

Gylledra could feel the eyes on her as she stood beside Varok, though she pretended not to notice. Since construction had begun on the city they had not been seen together much since they each had their own separate responsibilities. It had led to whispered speculation of course as to whether or not their wartime attraction had continued since the battles had ended.

Orcs weren’t particularly inclined toward gossip in the open, but they enjoyed rumors and intrigue as much as anyone else, and whether she liked it or not, she had become a much-discussed topic since coming to the Horde. Varok choosing to have Gylledra stand at his side as they officially made their way through the newly-built city was as much an open declaration of their union as if they had sent out written invitations to a wedding the way the Nightborne did. It was unnerving and exciting at the same time; her life had taken a wildly unexpected turn.

 

Thrall led the procession and it was incredible to walk through Orgrimmar and see the faces of those who lived there and the faces of their new allies, all of them joining the march to the Valley of Strength where the revelry would truly begin. The new construction all around them represented the rebirth of the Horde, they’d returned to their shamanistic roots, moving away from the constant state of conquering and invasion they had spent many decades in the midst of. There was hope again that they might live a life connected to the elements, that they could raise their families and exist without the strife and tragedy

 

The crowd was silent as they looked up at their Warchief. There was pride in his eyes, and hope. They had earned this peace, this home…it made Gylledra’s heart swell to have been part of it, to see people who had driven back the Legion, who despite their sacrifices and the grievous experiences they’d endured, they came out the other side of it alive and they were not the monsters many believed they were.

“It has been a long journey rife with bloodshed and loss, but finally, at the end of it…we are _home_. The orcs will never again be pawns for demons or slaves to humans. We hold dominion over ourselves in this land, Durotar, in this city, Orgrimmar. We are grateful to our allies and welcome them to our new home. This is the beginning of a new era, _FOR THE HORDE_.” Thrall raised his hammer and the crowd roared in response and the sound echoed off the cliffs like thunder.

Gylledra felt perhaps even a little overwhelmed by his words and by the response. The change in the orcs from the day she had first met them to this was incredible. No longer were they outcasts wandering in search of a home, they had found one and woe betide any that might try and take it from them.

 

There was a pavilion set up not far from the food stalls that Thrall decided to make his own. Gylledra sat beside Varok as he, Eitrigg, and other older veterans told stories, some of them were their own, others were of legendary orcs that had earned a place of honor in their history. Thrall himself listened, rapt, but managed to look like their Warchief and not the young orc he was. He’d been born on Azeroth, sometime after the orcs had come through the dark portal, which made him only twenty years old. Orcs matured faster than many other races, however, but he’d grown up a slave, he hadn’t heard all the stories as a child or spent nights by fires listening to such tales. Despite his history, he’d united the surviving orcs, liberated the incarcerated ones, and here they sat, now in their _own_ land.

Eitrigg regaled them with a tale of his youth when he’d been caught unawares by three ogres whilst he and his young mate were in the midst of making a vigorous effort to get her with child. They roared with laughter and Gylledra somehow couldn’t quite picture a youthful, pantsless Eitrigg fending off his attackers with a rickety tree branch.

Varok’s fingers trailed up along Gylledra’s spine, sending a shiver of anticipation through her. He was a veteran orc, older than most, but however white his hair might be, his mind gravitated to certain subject matter as potently as any young male. For nearly a week or more even, the days had been very long and the nights exhausted, for both of them. There had been little time alone together and the aching flame at Gylledra’s center was very close to consuming her entirely.

She was hyperaware of him, his movement, the sound of his breath, and now the torturous way his fingertips skimmed over her bare skin. Her attention wasn’t even on the stories anymore, and it was doubtful that his was either. When suddenly one of the many buckles came undone, Gylledra whipped her head around to look at him, his face still completely impassive and attentive, eyes on whoever was speaking. She narrowed hers at him though, and finally he glanced down briefly. Most everyone was faced away from them and didn’t notice when she got to her feet and slipped away between a couple buildings and into the alleyway that ran between them and the cliff, but she was still within earshot.

To her knowledge, there was no stealthy way for an orc of Varok’s mass to stand up and depart his companions, but a few moments later he came around the corner and there had been no break in the voice currently taking his turn captivating them with a long-ago battle.

“You managed not to be noticed?” She asked him quietly as he loomed over her, his intent plain on his face.

“You don’t give me much credit for going unnoticed, do you?” He smirked.

“Well, you haven’t managed to truly sneak up on me yet.” Gylledra shrugged.

“Hey…where’d Saurfang go?” Someone at the pavilion asked suddenly.

“I can guess!” Came a slurred, lewd reply that sounded a lot like Broxigar.

“Well, hopefully there are no ogres.” Thrall’s deep voice carried well, and the comment was met with another uproar of hilarity. Varok grinned, grabbing her by the waist. He lifted her, and she held on with arms and legs, but he pressed her against the wall.

“You’d have me right here in the alley?” She murmured, her mouth close to his.

“Absolutely…and against a wall.” He pressed his lips to hers and she could faintly taste ale on him. Gylledra gave a pleased sigh as his tongue slid against hers, pressing her hips against the hard ridge that strained inside his trousers. She kissed Varok’s neck, gently biting him then took his lobe between her teeth and he moaned. His hand made its way up the inside of her thigh but out the corner of her eye, Gylledra saw shadows shift far down the empty alleyway and she turned her head, listening into the darkness, focusing beyond the sound of Varok’s breath. He’d frozen the instant she did, knowing she must have sensed something, his instincts were sharp regardless of how much blood had left his brain to fill up other things.

“There’s someone here who should not be.” She whispered, and he released her at once. She searched the shadow and saw the outline of a figure moving very slowly, but she also saw the long ears. A night elf! Most likely a rogue, few others could wrap themselves in darkness and fewer still could see through it as she could. “Do not raise the alarm, I will take care of this.”

“A spy?” He asked.

“I cannot think of any other reason for a night elf to be seen lurking here.”

Gylledra melted into the shadows as though her very substance was that of darkness, and in some ways, it was. She moved fast, making her way silently after the intruder. He turned a corner, and then another as she was gaining on him and was moving at a full run as she turned the second corner. He made the mistake of stepping too close to sunlight as they neared the edge of the Drag. With only a thought, Gylledra’s bow was in her hand and she had a black void bolt nocked. She aimed and released and heard the grunt when it struck him as he crept along, believing himself unseen. The impact had knocked him to the ground, but not pierced him. Killing elves certainly wasn’t going to earn her the trust she needed to recruit from them.

The shock on the nigh elf’s face as Gylledra approached him bordered on comical and with a gesture, he was flat on his back on the ground, arms and legs splayed, held in place by smoky black tendrils of void. She folded her arms, looking down at him for a moment. His chest was heaving, golden eyes fixed on her in both anger and confusion.

“Risky, isn’t it? Sneaking into a Horde city in broad daylight.” She asked him in Darnassian. It was still close enough to her own language that it had been easy to pick up as they worked with the elves during the battle on Hyjal. He was free to speak but set his jaw. “I’m sure you thought we’d all be sufficiently distracted by the celebration. I’m not going to kill you, or even harm you, so you need not fear for your life.” Her captive had long, dark purple hair, and a short, well-groomed beard to match, which looked a good bit more decent than some of the more feral-looking druids amongst the night elves. His skin was a paler hue of purple and she had forgotten just how large male night elves were.

“What kind of an elf chooses to be _here_?” He asked, the disbelief evident in his voice.

“I’m not a night elf, so I don’t see what business that is of yours.” She smiled and to his wide-eyed horror, knelt astride him, unfastening the buckles on his jacket.

“ _What_ are you doing?”

“Taking back what you _borrowed_ , of course. If you’re going to spy for Tyrande and Malfurion you’re going to have to get better at it.” She pulled several envelopes and folded sheets of paper from an inside pocket. Opening them, she saw they were rough copies rather than originals. “Smart enough to leave the actual documents intact at least.” She murmured. “Wouldn’t want to incite Horde retaliation.”

“Why are you here?”

“Why are _you_ , the spy that I’ve caught in _my_ city, asking _me_ the questions?” Gylledra couldn’t deny her amusement at how bewildered he was. “I’m here because I choose to be, and in my efforts to save this world from the invading Legion, I have made allies where I can find them. My allies happened to be orcs. I’m familiar with the way elves think of outsiders, one of many things we disagree on.” She continued going through his pockets. “Your politics mean nothing to me, no more than Thrall’s do, believe it or not. I care not at all for the corporeal squabbles of those who live here.”

“You don’t care what happens to anyone?” He scoffed.

“On the contrary, I care what happens to _every_ one. I didn’t say that your conflicts are unimportant, but when the idea is to keep the world from being destroyed by an insane titan, it makes being upset about felled trees look a little silly, no?” She met his eyes and he said nothing for a moment. “What’s your name?”

“You think I’d tell you?”

“I am Gylledra Alenos.” She introduced.

“And you’re just going to…let me go?”

“Yes, when I’ve finished talking to you.” She gave a shrug.

“What about everything I’ve seen?”

“What about it? Would you be satisfied if I said I was going to reach into your mind and rummage around for memories to squash?” Gylledra refastened his jacket then folded her arms, still kneeling over him. “I could have killed you with one arrow, or in any number of other ways while I’ve had you at my mercy. I am not interested in killing you, or anyone really…it just seems to happen a lot in war.”

“Rell Nightwind.” He finally told her his name. The restraints on one of his arms vanished and she reached out, shaking his hand; he stared at her in complete astonishment.

“It has been nice meeting you, I do appreciate that you haven’t been vile or rude.” She told him.

“I…yes, of course, well…that wouldn’t really get me anywhere, would it?” He almost smiled and looked more confused to be having what could almost pass for a pleasant conversation. “Were you…with an _orc_ in the alley?”

“Have a good day, Rell Nightwind, give Tyrande and Malfurion my best.” She smiled, ignoring his question and he disappeared in a small puff of black smoke as she ported him out to the middle of Ashenvale. He’d be able to find his way back to them from there.

 

Varok was still waiting where she had left him and she smiled as she approached, holding the stolen papers.

“That’s all you got?” He asked.

“Was I supposed to come back with his head?” She eyed him a little warily. “It would be rather stupid, don’t you think, to bring harm to someone who essentially is your neighbor?”

“But you _caught_ him?”

“I did, and I spoke to him, he even told me his name. He was incredibly confused of course.” She gave a small laugh. “You should have seen his face.”

“What documents was he trying to take?” Varok’s frown deepened and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She’d been _hoping_ to resume their previous activity.

“Likely he was disappointed that he didn’t find invasion plans or some such thing. From what I read, they’re just security briefings, schedules, nothing that will actually jeopardize anything.” She sighed. “I’m going to let Thrall know and then I think I will go home for a bit…for a rest.” Not for a rest, not at _all_ for a rest and he knew it.

 

Thrall looked concerned when Gylledra returned holding papers and considering what they all obviously, and correctly, assumed she and Varok had run off to do, it was odd to return as she had.

“I took these off a spy I just happened to encounter. I searched him, he had nothing else. Probably hunting for evidence that you’re planning to invade.” She explained, handing over the copies.

“Was it an ogre?!” A sloppily intoxicated orc sitting off to Thrall’s left cackled madly at his own joke, nearly swaying off the bench he sat on. Beside him, Broxigar clapped him on the back, joining in his amusement.

“No, just a night elf, luckily.” She smiled though.

“And you let him go?” Thrall asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. I don’t want to give them any reason to start plotting an attack.” He gave a nod.

“My thoughts exactly. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Warchief.”

“Cause she’s about to enjoy hers!” Broxigar called, inciting more drunken laughter from the other orcs.

 

Gylledra did not dally getting home and she threw down the bolt once inside. There would be _no_ more interruptions for the night! The thick floorboards overhead creaked a little as she heard Varok moving around

She hurried upstairs and stepped into the bedroom to find him in just his trousers and she took in the sight of him for a moment. She had memorized every inch of him, every scar, every line, every muscle…but she never tired of simply gazing at him and the sheer strength he embodied. When she reached up to begin unfastening her own buckles, he stopped her hands.

“Leave it on.” He told her, using the only tone she’d ever obeyed because of what it promised. Gylledra watched his eyes, waiting for whatever was next and she saw him looking at the standing mirror across the room. Her heart started beating faster when he shoved the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed toward the mirror.

“What are you doing?” She asked, nervous and excited at the same time.

“Come here.” He took her gently by the arm, pulling her over to stand in front of him and she stared at their reflection. Truthfully it was something she’d never looked at before, the two of them together like that. He was so large that his body framed hers and her breath caught as he splayed one hand over her middle. “What do you see?”

“You.” She breathed.

“I see us both.” He rumbled, and his fingers moved downward, slipping beneath the leather draped at her hips. Gylledra gasped, leaning back against Varok as he found her, and she closed her eyes, exhaling a shuddering breath as one finger moved in a small, rhythmic circle. “Look.” She forced her eyes open and was a little shocked to watch what he was doing…watching and feeling it at the same time somehow intensified the sensation. Her mouth dropped open when he lifted the leather with his free hand and she stared at the movement. One finger slipped inside her and she clutched at his thighs, making a surprised but pleased sound.

Just as she felt that glorious tension building, though, he stopped, and her indignation seemed to amuse him. Without a word, he made quick work of the buckles and straps that held her bottoms on and they fell to the floor.

“Kneel on the bench.” He ordered.

“Wha—”

“You heard me.” Varok grinned, pointing to the bench and Gylledra did as she was told. Her back was still toward him and she watched in the mirror as he unlaced his trousers, freeing himself before stepping up behind her. Staring at their reflections, she couldn’t look away, fascinated and aroused to watch. She got onto all fours, but lowered to her elbows. Varok’s gaze hungrily traveled over her, her backside up in the air, and he gripped her hips, squeezing a little then releasing. His eyes met hers in the reflection and he drove into her, making her cry out. He moved inside her and she pressed back against him, panting.

“More…” She groaned, and he obliged. The sight of him—his face, his muscles straining, his hips and thighs as he moved…it was all too much, and the tension snapped, her body writhing against him, her voice loud.

As the sensation ebbed away, he withdrew and Gylledra, still breathing fast, turned around, sitting on the edge of the bench, facing him. Before he could back away, she grabbed the waist of his trousers, pulling him forward and without warning, took him into her mouth. His shocked gasp was very satisfying as she let her tongue play over his flesh, stroking and swirling, her lips tight around him.

“By all that is—Gylledra…wait…” His chest rose and fell rapidly as he pulled back. “I’m…that’s…”

“Good?”

“Too good.” He shook his head, but his smile was answer enough. “Move back.” She scooted a bit away from him and Varok sat, straddling the bench. He took her by the hips, pulling her onto his lap and filled her again. His eyes closed briefly and Gylledra kissed him; he was close, she could tell, and it gave her a thrill to know she could please him this way, that he wanted her. His face contorted as she moved, and he put his head back, crying out with release.

 

Gylledra was on her stomach in bed, hugging her pillow and staring sleepily into space as Varok lie beside her, trailing his fingers from the nape of her neck down to her thighs and back. The sensation relaxed her and she let out a long, happy sigh.

“I find myself wondering sometimes how this all came to be.” She murmured.

“I found you naked by a creek. The rest is history.” He chuckled.

“Not the _literal_ events.” She rolled over, smiling at him. “I believed for century after century…for millennia…that there was nothing meant for me but ultimately death at the hands of the Legion, that the things most others concerned themselves with would never be anything I would experience.” She reached up to touch his cheek. “I had made my peace with that, I have existed a very long time with no company but that of a crazy, somewhat hedonistic dragon.” A grin spread across her face and he chuckled.

“I can’t say things have improved much, you’re in bed with an ugly old orc now.” He told her, then turned his head to kiss her fingertips.

“I’m in bed in the _home_ I share with my _mate_.” She retorted. “This is exactly where I want to be.” He kissed her soundly, and she could feel warmth stirring again deep down.

“Don’t think about the how or the why, it is of no consequence. The future is what matters now, and you are part of why we have one.”


End file.
